


you might kill me with desire

by hotelsweet



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Angst, Case Fic, F/M, SO. MUCH. ANGST., a big ol case with plenty of intrigue, hopefully
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-29
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-01-06 23:44:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 36,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12221379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotelsweet/pseuds/hotelsweet
Summary: With his feelings in the past, Jake returns from his undercover stint with the Ianuccis. Only months later, he and Amy are assigned a hugely high-profile case, and life seems set to become incredibly exciting- Until all at once, everything from their relationship to an unexpected string of murders gets complicated.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome to a fic I've been referring to as 'Angst City Bitch Angst Angst City Bitch' (or, Angst City for short) to the lovely few people who've put up with me rambling about it for weeks on end!!!
> 
> quick warning (in case you missed the rating) this is gonna be like. substantially smuttier and far more murder-y than anything else I've written on here so if you're into that then SURPRISE and if not then. uh . Sorry
> 
> if you have any questions or you want to yell at me then obvs feel free to hit up the comments but you also can find me on tumblr under hotelsweet! 
> 
> enjoy <3
> 
> (title is from Sorry by Nothing But Thieves)

 

 

 

“Nope! I’m calling bullshit.”

“Huh?! Why?!”

Across an old, slightly battered table, filled to the brim with NYPD detectives from one ninety-ninth precinct, a tipsy Jake Peralta glares at an even tipsier Gina Linetti, whose narrow eyes and slight smirk stay completely focused on him despite the five margaritas she’s managed in the last couple hours.

This objection escapes him in almost a shout- partially out of necessity, thanks to the moderately noisy blur of voices and solid, raw sound of rock music coming through the sound system, and partially due to shock. _What_ about the three-minute tale of him losing his virginity in Mrs Stratton’s glorious Mazda Miata wasn’t believable?

“Oh, sweetie,” Gina takes his hand, pursing her lips a little, “I know we went through a brief separation in high school, what with my infiltration of the cheer team and your position as a total loser-”

“Was _not_ ,” he interjects, at the muffled sounds of amusement from Amy and Terry, and what may have even been a snort from Rosa. Gina squeezes his hand pityingly.

“We both know you were, and we also both know that you actually lost your virginity in your mom’s Ford Fiesta.”

“Okay, okay, so I may have exaggerated the car-”

“During a football game, in the parking lot,” Gina continues.

“Fine! It wasn’t at the beach. Are you happy? Everyone totally believed me until now,” he sits back, ignoring the hubbub of amused but firm disagreement this evokes, “and now you’ve ruined it.”

“Nobody believed you, Jake,” Rosa says simply, monotonously. “This game was meant to be truthful, that’s _why_ it’s funny.”

“Like when I told you all about my experience with Evangeline on the train!” Boyle pipes up, though he’s barely halfway through the sentence before he’s cut off by noises of disgust from the squad.

“At least Boyle’s was believable. You _started_ by telling us it lasted a full hour,” Amy, sat in front of him, rolls her eyes.

“Whatever,” Jake replies, topping off his beer. “Okay. I’m getting more drinks, but I want you all to know that I’m hurt and offended none of you believed I could have been such a stud.”

“Sorry, Pineapples,” Amy’s cool voice comes after him as he stands up for the bar, provoking another round of laughter. A tickling mix of annoyance, affection, and amusement spurred suddenly in his centre makes him look back. She’s sat between Terry and Rosa, her thick dark hair falling over the navy collar of today’s blouse, and her cheeks a flushed rose, telling of those glasses of wine she’s managed over the last few hours.

“No worries, lost-your-virginity-in-a-library,” he replies candidly, prompting another round of giggles, and an eye-rolling from Amy.

Walking over to the bar only emphasises, both mentally and physically, the amount of alcohol Jake’s had this evening. He glances at his watch quickly once he’s reached the bar- half midnight. They’ve been here for hours. This one’ll be his last, he decides.

“Jake! What can I get for ya?” A familiar voice approaches after a few minutes.

“One more round for the squad, Carl, thanks.”

“Got it,” he responds quickly, disappearing as quickly as he arrived.

A slight tug on Jake’s elbow asks him to turn around. He obliges, looking to his side, where he finds Amy, smiling up at him. Her expression is, as he knows it to be after a few drinks, almost youthful; her dark eyes admiring and happy, her lips in a small smile, and her cheeks flushed with heat.

“Y’okay there?” He asks over the noise.

“Mm,” she responds with a nod, sliding into a bar stool next to him. “Boyle started talking about that girl again,” shes says, pursing her lips, “so I thought I’d come help with the drinks.”

“Ew. That’s fair enough,” Jake says empathetically, briefly sharing a look of disgust with her. “God, it’s so much later than I thought it was.”

“Right?!” She agrees, laughing a little. “It’s been a good night.”

She’s not wrong. It’s been weeks since the whole squad has been at the bar together, bogged down by stats and papers and ongoing cases, limiting them to groups of three or four if anyone’s ever made it out.

“It has! Everyone needed it, for sure.” Jake looks back at the squad, all still chatting happily in the booth.

“It almost feels like normal now, don’t you think?” Her voice is almost nostalgic as she turns these words over, but there’s no hint of irony, or even sadness- she’s happy, and the warmth in her voice momentarily makes his chest ache.

Immediately, in response to the affection, Jake feels a tightness, a reflex, a _warning_ , suppressing those feelings right back down to where they belong. Out of sight, out of mind. Mostly.

“What d’you mean?” He asks carefully.

“Well, you’ve been home, what, three months? We celebrated you coming back from being undercover, then things kind of went back to their normal routine, blah blah blah…” she leans against the bar on her elbow, tilting her head over sideways, maintaining her gaze up at him. “But it’s not really felt like having you _home_.”

“Home?”

“Yeah. Like, when you came back, we had that whole awkward thing,” she says quickly, gesticulating by waving her hands around awkwardly, “but now it’s like you never left.”

“I know this is a pretty wild conclusion to jump to given that you just visualised the night I told you I liked you with… aggressive pretendy-spider-hands,” he says, mimicking her gestures, “but are you saying that you missed me?”

Amy rolls her eyes and picks up a couple of beers as Carl puts them in front of her. As she picks them up, her hand brushes his, and numbly, Jake almost shoots his own away- her touch burns, electricity darting over his skin.

“We all missed you.” She says simply, smiling warmly- and with that, she’s off, headed back for the booth.

In a small pulse beneath his skin, Jake can feel himself watching her, something within him hot and fluttering and still very much _there_.

Lord knows if it’s not going away for six months undercover, and another three back at home, it’s not going away now.

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

At 9:13am, not three sips into her coffee, it’s safe to say that Amy Santiago finds it almost laughable that only a few months ago she truly, genuinely missed Jake Peralta.

Currently attempting to use a yoyo, which is anchored in his mouth, he awkwardly bobs around at his desk, completely distracted. What started as marginally intolerable fidgeting has become a full-fledge project; he’s dipping his head up and down like a large, clumsy bird, trying to get the yoyo to spin just beneath him. Boyle watches on, interested.

Funny that for months she’d be up at night thinking about him, _worrying_ about him, and right now she could actually, really, truly punch him.

It’s been a long morning; the night before, all the heating in her bedroom broke, which created the worst combination on the planet- a perpetually too-cold woman and the mid-January cold seeping into her room. She’d slept on the couch, in three coats and every duvet she could find in her apartment. Waking up had meant shivering as she got dressed and ready, and desperately trying to ignore the stiffness in her neck brought about by the draft coming from her room.

The yoyo clanks as it hits the floor, and Amy grips the computer mouse so hard she swears she almost feels its plastic shell snap between her fingers.

The thing is, it might not even _bother_ Amy were it not for the small noises of victory he keeps making.

That, and the repeated clattering of the yoyo hitting the floor.

And the rowdy victory cheers every three freakin’ minutes.

Who’s she kidding? This is a pain in the ass. An _unprofessional_ pain in the ass.

“Jake,” she sighs, exasperated, finally giving in, pressing her hands over her face. “Please.”

“M’busy, Ames,” he mumbles in reply, not looking up from the yoyo hanging from his mouth.

“This is a police precinct, not a preschool classroom.”

He rolls his eyes and briefly removes the yoyo from his mouth.

“And yet I’m still being lectured by a nerd behind a desk.”

“Whatever,” she smiles tartly, standing up to go and pour herself another coffee, “Holt will be here in ten minutes and there’s no way he’s sitting through this.”

“Spoil-sport!” He calls after her as she heads for the kitchenette. “And stop memorising his schedule, it weirds me out!”

She spins round on her heel indignantly and looks at him disparagingly.

“What?”

“I haven’t memorised his schedule, jackass. Well, I mean, not _completely._ It’s a morning briefing.”

Jake looks inquisitively at Charles, who confirms this, nodding back at him apologetically.

“Huh. I never picked up the actual time of those, I just kinda follow everyone else.”

“You’re like a goldfish,” she mutters, heading for the kitchenette.

“A super handsome goldfish!” Charles chimes in, but Jake doesn’t say anything else. Amy breathes a sigh of relief.

The annoyance begins to fade, just a little, but a large part of it remains under the surface. It’d be a lie for her to claim that this is all Jake, this bad feeling- truthfully, it’s like she’s been on a downward slope since she broke up with Teddy six weeks ago.

She can’t close cases like she used to. She can’t focus like she used to. Hell, she can’t live in her own damn apartment like she used to. Something inside her hasn’t felt right, slightly uncomfortable, slightly _wrong_ , since the whole ordeal- while before she was a detective with a boyfriend and a relatively warm apartment, she’s now a freezing cold loser who’s in a slump and has to sleep it off alone in the world’s coldest living room. There’s no safety net now she’s not got Teddy, just her, and her future, and her career, and it’s all she can think about.

It’s not _right._ Undoubtedly, she feels better without him, no longer needing to keep up a façade, but the change seems to have… thrown her off-balance. It’s not uncommon in her breakups, in anyone’s breakups, she supposes, but now it’s different to when she was in her 20s. It’s a gritty wake-up call, a harsh reminder to re-evaluate herself and her progress.

There’s also the convenient truth that a good half of the hurdles in her relationship with Teddy were caused by the fact that she wanted someone else.

Someone who’s doing a victory lap of the bullpen, high-fiving everyone, after having successfully bobbed a yoyo from his mouth for a minute straight.

After a deep breath, she takes the first sip of her second cup of coffee.

As usual, it’s bitter, and not as hot as she’d like it to be, but it’s enough. More than enough- a nagging desperation for energy pulls at her and soon enough she’s chugging it like an energy drink.

“Y’okay there Santiago?” Terry murmurs a tad concernedly as he walks past.

“Perfect,” she says dryly.

The morning passes slowly, with little to no progress, on Amy’s part. Their briefing comes and goes, and everyone’s in and out of the bullpen as usual, following up on cases and signing off paperwork. As if not being able to get anything done wasn’t frustrating enough- being surrounded by people doing just that pokes at the critical, stubborn little demon in Amy’s brain, griping about how little she’s done.

By four in the afternoon, she’s given up, slouching back into her chair and staring aimlessly at her work. Her life’s been messy and slow for weeks, but now three whole days of this crap at work, and she’s not been right about one thing, hitting dead end after dead end. Unless, of course, you count Holt being completely unimpressed by Jake and his yoyo-mouth tricks. That, of course, earned a small boost in satisfaction, even if only for the look on Jake’s face.

The day is slow, and stupid, right up until she receives the email, one that in weeks to come she’ll wonder if she would have been better without. One that in years to come she’ll know changed her life.

It crops up in the corner of her screen, a little red exclamation mark bobbing above it in the corner of her screen, marking it as **urgent**. It excites her more than she’d willingly admit; modifying her email so it could notify her out of its own window was one of her proudest achievements when Savant had all of their operating systems updated.

 

 **_from:_ ** [rholt@nypd.org](mailto:rholt@nypd.org) **_  
to:_ ** [asantiago@nypd.org](mailto:asantiago@nypd.org) **_,_ ** [jperalta@nypd.org](mailto:jperalta@nypd.org)

**_Detectives, please meet me in my office as quickly as possible. Might I ask that you make as little fuss as possible._ **

**_Regards._ **

**_Captain Raymond Holt_ **

****

Immediately, Amy’s heart starts racing. This is _something_ , whether it’s a new case, a new opportunity, or, hell, even just the two of them being told off for something. It’s a distraction.

Or maybe it’s something more.

She looks over at Jake, who’s fiddling with a ball of elastic bands in one hand and using his computer with the other. He seems relatively unfazed, which is how she knows he hasn’t seen the email- there’s a reason Holt had to ask them not to make a fuss, and that reason goes by the name of Jacob Peralta.

“Hey,” she whispers over at him. “Hey!”

He glances over, briefly, then looks back to his screen.

“What’s up?”

“The email. Holt.”

“Huh?”

“We both need to be in Holt’s office. Now.”

“Why’re you being so quiet?” He looks at her confusedly. “That urgent-whisper voice is creeping me out. But also kind of turning me on.” He tilts his head to the side teasingly.

She rolls her eyes.

“C’mon,” she mutters softly, standing up and heading for Holt’s office.

“No, I’m serious! Could you say the following words in that exact voice? ‘You must remain quiet in the library-’”

“Jake.” She pivots on her heel outside the door to Holt’s office. “Keep the weird librarian kink for _after_ the super serious meeting.”

“Y’know, I can honestly say I never thought I’d hear you say that.”

She rolls her eyes and knocks twice on the door, before clicking it open gently.

“Santiago, Peralta.”

“Sir,” they reply in union. Jake grins at Amy.

“Please have a seat.”

There’s something about him, Amy thinks, something serious- quickly, she glances around the room. Immediately confirming her suspicions, she notices the drawn blinds, the closed window, the soft music playing from Holt’s record player. She can’t help the excitement bubbling under the surface.

“I’ve called you both in here to discuss a potential opportunity. Simply put, it would entail the both of you working with Major Crimes.”

“Ew,” Jake blurts out, which earns him a blunt nudge from Amy’s knee.

“We’re all-ears, sir,” she smiles.

“I wanted to keep this rather low-key as this opportunity, this _case-_ ”

“There’s a case?!” Amy asks excitedly, unable to help herself. Holt simply looks at her- she sits back in her chair, almost apologetically, sensing Jake’s smirk without having to look at him.

“Due to Peralta’s success undercover, and our performance in last year’s tactical village, I’ve been approached in search of two detectives. This is… an _incredibly_ high-profile case.” Holt looks between the two of them slowly, completely still.

“Well, we're obviously in. Who is it?” Jake pipes up quickly. Amy glances over at him and almost rolls her eyes at how excited he is now he’s realised someone famous is involved- but she holds back. It’d be a lie to say she doesn’t feel the same. “An actor? A singer? Oh my god, it’s Taylor, isn’t it?!”

“ _Jake_ ,” Amy cuts in, desperate to hear the actual details. Holt nods once, and she can’t help the surge of teacher’s-pet-pride that swells in her chest.

“I presume you’re aware of Kristoff Clare.”

“Wow, yes,” Amy replies, eyes wide, sharing a quick look with Jake. “Billionaire, entrepreneur, philanthropist-”

“He was in that AT&T ad with the dog!” Jake grins.

“Yes. I believe he is an investor in the company,” Holt offers.

“He’s crazy famous. He’s almost at the top of the Forbes Rich List,” Jake replies matter-of-factly, resulting in an odd look directed his way from Amy. “What?! I saw it in a fancy magazine at an airport lounge.”

“Is he okay?” Amy asks eagerly.

“He has been receiving a number of threats. Major Crimes is only actually involved because until a couple of weeks ago, a child was at risk.”

“A child?” Jake’s expression changes.

“Kristoff’s daughter, Angelica, recently turned eighteen. A detective from Major Crimes was asked to step in as a family favour, but since the case appears to be rather open-and-shut, they’ve decided to pull detectives from our precinct instead.”

“So, what, are the threats not serious?” Jake looks a little confused.

“As I understand it, Kristoff is relatively unbothered by the messages he’s been receiving. He’s merely looking into more protective measures for the estate-”

“The _estate_ ,” Jake grins over at Amy. “Dope.”

“- And increased security.”

“Sir, if you don’t mind me asking, why on earth would Major Crimes pick up two detectives from Brooklyn? Only, I assume this estate is a good distance away?” Amy asks carefully, not wanting to jeopardize a good opportunity.

“Westchester, yes,” Holt confirms. “I’ll have to ask that you don’t let this get to your head, Peralta, but…” He clears his throat. “Kristoff Clare asked for you.”

Jake’s face lights up like a little kid who's been told school's off for a snow day.

“Buuuuh what-now-huh?!”

“I believe he read into your work undercover with the Ianucci family. When he was told the case was being delegated, he named you.”

“Awesome!” Jake half-laughs. “Man, this is crazy.”

Amy sits still, trying to keep her breathing balanced, but inside she’s completely giddy; a high-profile case, and an _easy_ one, too- this is a cakewalk, and it’s going to set her back on track. She knows it, can feel it lifting her from her shoulders, her confidence tiptoeing back already.

“So. The nature of this meeting is essentially just a proposition, offering the two of you this case. You need to understand that this will mean a lot of time between this precinct and Major Crimes, as well as visiting the estate. What I mean to say is,” he considers, “this case will be an incredibly interesting one, but it will also require a lot of effort.”

Amy looks over at Jake intuitively, but he’s already looking towards her, eyes wide, as if to ask- _is this guy serious?_  Of _course_ they’re going to want the case. Who’s he kidding? Excitement flutters in her chest. It’s been a while since her and Jake have had an exhilarating case, and this one might be simple, but it’s a slam-dunk. Career progress. Media attention. Meeting super-famous-billionaires.

Who could say no?

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

As they approach the entrance to One Police Plaza, Amy finds herself furiously prodding Jake’s shoulder as he speeds ahead of her, desperately trying to get his attention.

“Jake!” She gives up, resorting to calling for him like a dog. One of these days she'll find herself whistling for him.

He turns around immediately, seemingly unbothered- or perhaps entirely unaware- of her repetitive poking.

“’Sup?”

“Don’t laugh, but…” She breathes deeply, and steps back a little. “Blaser buttoned or unbuttoned?”

Jake just looks at her, not reacting. She doesn’t move, looking at him earnestly, at which point he appears to realise she’s serious, smiling softly.

“You look great as you are. If you change it you’ll only make yourself more panicked.”

She sighs. He’s probably- no, definitely- right, and they both know it.

“Okay, yes. Unbuttoned it is. Good. Let’s go.” She brushes herself off for the sixty-millionth time this morning and gives herself a small shake, ready to go. However, as soon as she steps forward, she feels a warm hand take her arm, stopping her in her tracks. “What?” She asks Jake, whose grasp remains firm. He just smiles knowingly at her.

“We’re gonna crush this. Don’t worry.” He smiles sincerely, softly, and for just a second, it reminds her of the night he told her he had feelings for her. Almost nine months ago. She nods, once, knowing he’ll understand it as a movement of gratitude.

“C’mon,” she smiles, and like that, they’re moving again, straight into the lobby, showing their IDs and being let into the elevators just like the higher-ups, surrounded by important-looking, well-dressed, stoic cops and filled to the brim with excitement.

Amy’s posture is so tight just trying to keep herself still that she could almost burst, mustering every ounce of inner strength just to maintain a professional appearance, while Jake does little to nothing to restrain himself, chatting excitedly about his potential code names (his current top three being Axe, Hurricane, and The Thunder). Their elevator hauls itself up to Major Crimes, and neither of them can keep the smile off their faces.

As they step into the hall, Amy realises neither of them have been here since she rejected her job offer here last year. She watches Jake fondly, thinking of the spelling-error-ridden letter she still has kept tucked into a drawer at home. Right now, he’s looking at the number and the name of each office as they walk the hallway, looking for the details they’d been given by Holt yesterday.

“Okay, so here’s the deal.” A familiar voice comes from the other end of the hallway, from behind Amy. She daren’t look.

Jake turns to Amy, his face turning to total despair.

“Nooooooo, _c’mon_ ,” he mutters, and just like that, Amy knows her recognition of the voice was right.

“I don’t want you on this case. Super rich dude wants you on the case,” Keith Pembroke explains casually as he approaches them. “So you’re here. What’s up, Jakey?” He grins smugly at Jake. “How’s that big white ass? Ready to get briefed?” He laughs fully, clearly amused by himself.

Jake grimaces uneasily, shooting Amy a look.

“With all due respect, Officer Pembroke,” Amy says calmly, resisting to urge to say Vulture out loud, “we have just as much right to be working this case as you do.”

“Trust me, Santaigo, I’ve got no problem with _you_ being here,” he says with a wink, and just like that Amy would almost rather punch him in the face than keep her spot on this case.

“Okay, let’s get this over with,” he mutters, opening the door to his office.

Their briefing is quick, almost identical to what Holt had explained to them yesterday, charts and explanations and the reassurance that, _yes_ , they will both be meeting Kristoff Clare. They’re to visit the estate in a week, then immediately begin working directly with the family full-time to enforce stricter protective measures. In under half an hour, they’re walking back out again.

“Did that not worry you a little?” Amy looks over at Jake the second the elevator shuts and they’re on their way out.

“Huh? Not really. He’s the worst, but we’ve dealt with hi-”

“No, Jake,” she hushes him cursing out his superior before they’ve even left the building. “I meant… how _little_ Major Crimes seemed to know. When it came to detail, there was almost nothing other than that Kristoff needs them, and that there’s going to be a hell of a lot of media attention.”

“I don’t know,” Jake considers, “It’s a pretty simple case, right? It seems pretty open-and-shut, like the Captain said. I’m sure if there was any potential it could be something more, the Vulture would make as much a deal out of it as possible.”

“I guess so,” she finds herself agreeing, though she knows her hunch tells her something’s off.

“But hey!” Jake beams toothily over at her, “this is it! Jake and Amy, back on a case!”

She laughs a little at his unhindered enthusiasm.

“I’m serious!” He continues, “I know it’s going to be a pain in the ass having the Vulture above us, but we haven’t had something big like this since… well-”

“Since before you left,” she finishes his sentence for him, smiling gently. “Since Wint.”

“Exactly.”

Amy’s fingertips clasp clammily over the soft leather strap of her bag, tense, as the two of them maintain their gaze on each other, just for a second or two. She knows her chest, her cheeks, must redden, because her heart picks up its pace and just like every stupid moment she’s looked at him since he got back, one thought, one _word_ , spins around aggressively in her mind: _unfinished._

“We’re all good, right?” Jake says a little awkwardly, after neither of them break off the stare.

“What?” Amy’s voice sounds far weaker than she intended, resulting in a tiny pang of embarrassment, internally kicking herself.

“All that stuff with us… it’s in the past.”

“Oh, right,” she replies quickly, too quickly, “yes. Of course.”

“Good,” he says, a little relievedly- “I know you’ve just broken up with Teddy last month, and I didn’t want you to think I was going to try anything, use this case to my advantage.”

“Don’t be stupid,” she says assuredly, “I know you’d not use a case to get laid.”

He raises his eyebrows.

“I mean,” she corrects herself, “not with _me_. You’re better than that.”

“You’re too kind,” he sighs, smiling warmly at her. She chuckles softly.

“Woah, careful- that’s dangerously close to flirting.”

He laughs, and within a couple of minutes they’re talking about something else, headed back to the nine-nine. For a moment, it really feels like everything’s going to be fine, going to be normal- maybe even going to be fun.

Under the surface, an aching in Amy’s chest begs to differ, thrumming thickly, electric, as she watches him chatter and laugh and smile as if everything makes sense.

 

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

“To Amy and Jake, for scoring an incredible case and abandoning us for at least eight weeks!” Charles shouts, earning a round of cheers as everyone follows suit.

“Oh, c’mon, I’d never _abandon_ you, bud,” Jake throws an arm over Charles’ shoulder. He sighs loudly. “I just have to go and hang out with super rich famous people for a few weeks until they love me and accept me as one of their own. I’ll buy you _anything_ you want afterwards.” He grins at his friend, whose face lights up.

He’s exaggerating, of course- they all are, the warmth of the beer and the bar and the excitement of what’s to come enveloping the air. Everyone’s at least five drinks down, with Shaw’s now close to closing- but nobody’s going anywhere anytime soon. Gina’s got the night planned out, even emailing out (much to Amy’s delight, and consequently, Jake’s amusement) an itinerary for the evening.

“You guys are so mushy,” Rosa teases, rolling her eyes. Jake spots a small smile tugging on her lips, though, her tell; she cares just as much as Charles.

“Yeah, we’ll still be at the precinct a couple days a week,” Amy says as if it’s obvious, that drunk confidence of hers practically dripping from her lips as she speaks. “If you’re gonna cry about anything, it should be how far you’re all gonna fall behind without me holding you up,” she shrugs, with a small smile, calm in the face of the outrageous laughter from Gina and Rosa and general shock from everyone else that this elicits.

Jake watches her, sat tall on her barstool, her smile never wavering.

Internally, he finds he’s telling himself he can’t _help_ the way his chest swells as he watches her, the way his heart pounds and he lights up from the inside out.

It’s not deliberate. So it’s harmless.

And yet, he can’t help but scold himself- _you know better_.

It’s a whisper. It aches more powerfully the longer his eyes stay fixated on her, paining him to his core and worsened by her dark, smiling eyes, and the head of raven hair falling loose over her shoulders. His fingers are cold wiIt’s the nights undercover, completely alone, when a memory of her on a rooftop trying to throw peanuts into her mouth is what got him to sleep. It’s every moment of uncertainty she’s resolved within him from the second she stepped into the precinct for the first time, almost seven years ago.

And it’s all useless.

Someone’s nudging his shoulder, and then he’s coming back to the room- something’s happening, people are moving.

“Jake!” Gina snaps her fingers in front of him. “C’mon, wake up, it’s time for bar two!”

He jumps up, inventing some excuse about finishing his drink, and moves with the group as they pile into taxis outside Shaw’s.

For just a second, before her head dips into the taxi in front, he swears he catches Amy looking back at him.

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

As soon as Jake steps outside The Nightingdale, onto a sidewalk lit only by its bright red neon sign, his ears begin to ring, unaccustomed to the absence of heavy music. The mid-January air, at this hour, is practically biting, so icily cold it almost hurts, but it’s exactly what he needs; his forehead glistens a little with a thin sheen of sweat (already fast disappearing) and he’s just a tad _too_ warm from all the dancing. 

Absent-mindedly, he sinks against the brick wall, letting himself breathe for a second, a familiar, numb, intoxicated ringing in his head. This is gonna hurt tomorrow.

It must be at least three in the morning. The Nightingale is their third and final stop of the night, predominantly a dance club with several tables at the back, concealed by shadows. It's a slightly disconcerting effect; the sense that there’s always more space, more people, than you can see.

For the most part, everyone’s been on the dancefloor, going crazy for the unusual blend of heavy club beats and cheesy 80s and 90s music that they’ve been playing all night- Gina’s been throwing shapes like she was born for it, Amy’s repeatedly succeeded in shimmying Rosa into action, and Jake’s even performed an entire routine with Terry (including lifts, obviously). Internally he wishes someone had filmed it. 

Something’s shifted within him, most of his tension from earlier in the evening having melted away, hand-in-hand with his sobriety. Drunk contentedness washes over him; he's got a big, exciting, relatively simple case that’ll instantly boost his and Amy’s careers, an incredible group of friends and colleagues whom he adores, and he's living in the greatest city on earth. He opens his eyes, taking in the buildings around him, under the flaming vermilion light so bright that it coats the street around him like treacle.

Out of nowhere, the doors to the bar are thrown open, so fast Jake actually jumps.

“Oh, hey.”

Amy smiles over at him. Then, quickly, he notices she’s looking over with narrowed eyes, like she’s trying to see through fog.

“Hey, partner.” He immediately regrets this greeting, briefly cursing himself for its awkwardness. Amy doesn’t seem fazed, walking slowly out into the street. “Y’okay there?”

“Yeah,” she says quietly, her gaze not leaving him. It’s almost intense, he thinks. She never stares, not like this. She smiles. Then she grins, surrendering to a soft chuckle. “You’ve got…” 

“I’ve got…” He repeats in an attempt to prompt her, unsure if she’s too drunk to make sense or if she’s just being quiet.

“You’ve got salt- or sugar, or something, just above your mouth,” she laughs, pointing at the side of her mouth. “At first it kinda looked like a patch of… uh… gray stubble.” Her speech is languid, soft, he realises, like she’s thinking over every word she says.

“Oh,” Jake laughs relievedly, comforted by what appears to be only mild tipsiness, on her part, and a valid reason for staring at him so hard his chest started to tighten. “Must have been from the shots…”

He pushes the back of his wrist over his chin.

“No- wrong spot,” Amy interjects gently. “It’s… you’re…” She cuts in repeatedly as he somehow misses the spot over and over, until she rolls her eyes and steps towards him. 

She comes close, until she’s stood only centimetres away from him, taking her thumb and pressing it softly over a spot to the side of his mouth, and wiping away whatever’s there.

Jake watches her carefully, completely frozen in his spot; after she’s taken her hand away, she doesn’t move, her eyes locked with his. It’s perhaps the most intense thing Jake’s ever experienced, simply _looking_ at her, maintaining this eye contact for so long. His body tightens- his heart is racing, and he can feel his cheeks heating despite the cold. Not that either of them would be able to tell, he thinks, under the colour of light.

Finally, there’s movement- with only the fading sounds of traffic, under the scorching red of a neon sign hanging above them, Amy sucks her thumb clean.  

He’s not sure whether he should be mildly uncomfortable or mildly turned on, and he knows his face must show it, because he’s stuck, completely unable to move, fire shooting under his skin at hundreds of miles an hour until he could swear he’s about to burst. All she does is stare at him, her eyes somehow darker than usual and completely focused.

Ask him tomorrow, and he’ll tell you that it’s him who moves first.

In actuality, it’s not that simple; like two runners crossing a finish line, so incomparably close that they’re not even a microsecond apart, it’s impossible to tell who’s first as they crash against each other.

Jake’s mind is alight, everything happening at once; the alcohol has his heart pounding yet manages to slow the kiss down, just enough sobriety pinching at his senses to pick up on every miniscule detail of the woman in front of him, of a moment he’s longed for for far too long.

When he slides his hand up her back and she tugs him closer, one hand pulling gently at the fabric of his shirt and the other sliding into his hair, he wonders if she can tell how much this means to him.

With her body completely pressed against him, and the soft sound of a moan escaping her throat as his mouth moves to the underside of her jaw, and then her neck- he considers that it may even mean something to her, too.

He’s surprised at how firm her hand feels on his waist, pulling him closer by his shirt.

He’s even more surprised when he feels her fingertips skimming the top of his jeans, his breath catching quickly in his throat.

She looks up at him with a small smile, and pressing herself up against him in all the right ways, he’s not sure how he’s still standing, tipsy from the alcohol and absolutely intoxicated from Amy’s touch.

It’s five, ten minutes of teasing, toying, before he realises- no, _remembers_ \- that they’re out in the open, pushing each other to a point where, despite the patches of sludgy snow and violently cold air, they’re close to tearing each other’s clothes off. It’s like a game; she’ll pull at his jeans, he’ll suck a little harder on her neck. She’ll bite his lip, he’ll slip a hand under her shirt, the small of her back burning under his fingertips.

“Yours,” she says quietly into his ear, in a voice so thick Jake’s knees almost buckle. “Please.”

“Oh, uh,” he clears his throat, “yeah. Okay. Yes.”

They pull apart a little, eyes still locked together. It’s a moment of complete amazement, Jake realises, every sensation in his body heightened, from the soft tingling of his lips to the dull ache in his lower abdomen. Amy’s expression changes, now looking at him like she’s trying to figure out a math problem.

“Wait,” Amy says quietly, and for a second Jake’s heart sinks- she’ll say what they’re both thinking, that this is crazy, that they shouldn’t. “Do you want to?”

He almost can’t believe she’s asking him this, looking at her a little incredulously.

“Yes, Amy, I…” He struggles for the words, astounded by the innocence in her questioning eyes. He squeezes his fingers around hers gently where they’re already brushing against each other. “I’ve wanted this for… too long,” he says, half-laughing, shaking his head a little.

She presses herself up on her toes and kisses him sweetly, simply, her fingers curling around the collar of his button-down.

“C’mon,” she says quietly, and with that, she’s taken his hand, and she’s leading him into the street.

She’s in total control, he realises quickly, from asking him to take her home to hailing down a taxi, into which they both climb with only mild stumbling and tipsy giggling- particularly after Jake bumps his head on the roof of the cab.

They’re silent in the taxi, communicating only by that tight, hot stare that kicked this whole mess off. Without any obvious movement, staying as respectful to their driver as humanly possible, it’s a good fifteen minutes of teasing- Jake’s hand, on Amy’s leg, presses itself higher and higher, until he’s slowly rubbing the inside of her thighs.

It’s hard not to be in complete awe when he watches her bite her lower lip, tilting her head back as he touches her inner legs over the fabric of her jeans. Her fingers close over his in response, and when he tightens his hold, her breath hitches so loudly it’s essentially a gasp, the cab driver’s eyes darting over at her in the rear-view mirror. It’s easily the most intense part of their evening so far, if the most restrained.

Once they arrive at Jake’s it’s like the two of them lose all tact, completely starved of each other and now allowed to taste, allowed to feel, granted permission to one another.

They’re kissing before they’re even up the steps into Jake’s building, murmuring softly and teasing each other until it feels almost futile that they’ve come all this way home, as though they could easily end up having sex right here in the hall.

As soon as they’re in the elevator, Jake’s got her by her legs, scooping her up and hoisting her up against the wall. Immediately, she laughs. Half of him wonders whether he should be concerned by her amusement at him attempting to be sexy, and the other half makes every effort to savour that joyous sound, and the feeling of her laugh shaking through her body as he holds her.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry- no, it's good,” she says quickly, “it’s just so cliché.”

“I could always put you down,” he offers sarcastically. “The floor looks super comfy.” They both glance down at the gritty metal base of the elevator.

“C’mere,” she mutters with a smirk, pulling him towards her and into a heated kiss, sliding her tongue into his mouth. He goes faint at the taste of her, sweet against him.

He aches so strongly for her, at this point, that he almost jolts in shock at the rich, unhindered sound of her moaning, as he takes his mouth over the top of her chest. The elevator shudders, as if it’s aware- though Jake knows it’s simply a lack of structural security.

Without thinking, he pulls the emergency stop button, and the elevator grinds to a stop, a loud clunking noise echoing through the shaft.

“Here?” Amy asks quietly, shock coursing into her eyes, a small smile on her lips. Jake’s a little proud- there’s a hint of disbelief in her expression, and he understands why: the last hour or so, he’s held back, scared to push her beyond what she wants.

Not anymore. He wants her-

“ _Now_.” His voice is hoarse.

Amy’s eyes shift quickly into something different, something _hungry_. She nods once, and like that, it’s happening all over again.

Feverish heat blossoms within him in the most perfect way, an exquisite release after months, _years_ , of waiting for her. They’re all over each other, so entangled that Jake’s only indicator of which movements are his are the sensations under his fingertips; her hair, as she kisses over his collarbones, the buttons on her shirt, as he fiddles to undo them, her lips, as his hand clumsily cradles her jaw.

When he shivers, the 4am January cold seeping into the elevator, she laughs, making some joke about how rushing will catch up with him- not that she seems to mind. She tightens her legs around his waist and pulls him closer. Her smile is too much, driving him insane; so he kisses it off her face, until those honeyed words melt into just one word; his name, over and over until it’s all he ever wants to hear for the rest of his life.

The way her breath stops when he’s finally inside her is unparalleled to anything he’s ever heard before. He’s not sure he can bear to forget it, not sure what it’ll mean if he never hears it again- in those first few movements he finds he has to do everything to hold himself back, stop himself from coming apart on the spot, the feeling of her around him too good to be true.

Her hands, still a little cold, find his hips, guiding him into her. It’s a combined effort, to stay upright and keep Amy balanced on the rail, but somehow they’re managing, and it’s utter heaven.

“Jake, oh my _god_ -“

Amy can hardly talk, her breath now entirely out of control- this does very little in Jake’s favour, desperately trying to hold himself together and make this perfect for her. He twists around a little, so he’s at a slightly different angle- immediately, her eyes widen, and her head drops back.

“There, right there,” she manages, her voice tight. “Please.”

The sound of her pleading, begging, very nearly sends him over the edge- so he decides to help her instead, focus on something else, taking one of his hands from under her legs and starting to rub her softly. Immediately her groaning becomes almost uncontrollable, and though he’s largely just astounded by how incredible she is, Jake’s able to take consolation in the fact that she may actually be finding it more difficult to keep herself together than him.

He can’t get over how beautiful she is. It almost feels wrong, unforgivable, that someone like him should be able to experience her like this- but the way she’s holding onto him for dear life goes past making him feel wanted. He’s _needed_ , and by the one person to whom he would readily give everything.

It ends too quickly, both of them unable to keep themselves from finishing- her first, then him, at the sight of her.

In total disbelief, all Jake can do is look at her, in the seconds that come afterwards. He doesn’t know much about how a situation like this, much about what comes next; he’s had a one-night stand or two, and he’s slept with women on the first date.

But he’s never moved so quickly with someone he’d rather die than lose.

Eventually, the emergency button is slotted back into place, and the elevator begins to move. Neither’s hands ever leave the other, not entirely.

Amy follows him into his apartment, touching, tugging, bringing him to bed, and a harsh realisation invades his head, fizzing off around his body in excitement, intrigue, and a dash of worry.

Nothing is going to be the same.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

“Jesus, fuck…”

Not even entirely awake, Amy manages to stir herself awake with her own voice, cursing intuitively at the throbbing in her head. Without opening her eyes to the cruel world outside, she lifts herself up onto her elbows and presses her thumbs against her temples, desperately trying to alleviate some of the pain of the headache.

The sudden upward movement makes her surprisingly dizzy- at which point she realises that this is no mere migraine. No, this is, undoubtedly, a hangover. She sighs deeply, letting herself fall back into her pillow.

It’s when she misjudges the distance between her head and the pillow, and promptly bashes her head into the wall, that Amy knows she’s not in her own home, immediately startled awake.

Rubbing her eyes open, everything seems to hit at once; her _complete_ lack of clothes under these sheets, the impeccable warmth of this bed, and the unmistakable freckled back of the man lying next to her.

Instantly, the night before floods back into her head, her stomach twisting violently in a sickening assortment of guilt, shock, confusion, and excitement. Her hand shoots to her mouth, completely taken aback by herself. The main thought running through her mind- though she can’t seem to place an exact moment or movement that could serve as evidence- is that _she_ started this. _She’s_ the reason they’re waking up naked together. And _she’ll_ be the reason things get completely weird from here on out.

Unmoving, so as not to wake him, she watches Jake, who remains completely passed out, his bare back exposed as he lies on his front.

“Oh my god,” she whispers quietly, thinking about the way this completely still, sleeping man had held her, had touched her, only hours ago.

Somewhere in the room, a phone buzzes.

Amy looks around, not even considering that someone might need to get in contact with her. It seems to be coming from the floor, as far as she can tell, which is in a general state of disarray; a mix of her clothes and Jake’s, as well as the usual Peralta-clutter that she knows too well to gather in his apartment, has the floor almost completely concealed.

Awkwardly, she clambers out of bed, pulling the throw blanket off the corner of Jake’s bed to cover herself as she searches for her phone.

It’s still in the pocket of her jeans, which sit awkwardly at the end of Jake’s bed- she pulls it out and sits on the end of the bed to inspect it.

To her absolute horror, her lock screen is filled with notifications, all of them filled with various expletives, all-caps words, and exclamation marks.

She scrolls down, until she sees the one text that has her close to throwing up on the spot.

“Morning,” Jake’s voice comes from behind her, magically sleepy- he presses a kiss against her bare shoulder, and for a microsecond, she feels a little calmer, but the second the turns to look at him, she knows her expression gives her panic away, because Jake’s face changes immediately. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“It’s… my phone…” she shows him the screen, then, with a grimace, opens The Text, the one sending her brain into a spinning, guilty frenzy.

“Oh my god.”

 

**_Keith Pembroke   06:24_ **

****

**_I need you and Jake at the estate NOW._ **

**_  
Kristoff Clare is dead._ **

****

 

 

 

 

 

 

                                                              

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a big case + two angsty loved up idiots? let's get into it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI I'm really sorry this update took me so long! I've just started university and I have had maybe... three seconds to myself to focus on this 
> 
> anyway I hope you enjoy/ suffer through this in the best way!! I'll see u on the other side

Numbingly cold air flies through Amy’s hair, forcing a shiver down her spine as her stomach violently contracts.

Crouched on her knees in the gardens of the late Kristoff Clare’s estate, the vomit escaping her into the bushes is practically constant, her body haunted by the poison of last night’s alcohol and the anxious horror of her morning so far.

Already two hours late having read the Vulture’s text, her and Jake had dressed and left his apartment so fast that she’d not even realised she was in last night’s clothes until they’d arrived- after a nauseating, completely silent hour’s drive to Westchester. What’s worse, she’d been at Major Crimes yesterday in these exact clothes- the worry of her and Jake being found out, then, piles up on top of everything other anxiety

“Oh, god,” she mutters to herself weakly, spitting up the residual fluid in her mouth in an attempt to rid herself of the burning bile in the back of her throat. She heaves a little, coughing the rest away; there’s nothing left in her body to go. A hungover, cold, anxious shell.

She’s vaguely aware of people walking around behind her, which only makes her want to shrivel up and die with humiliation- of course, she couldn’t be sick inside and potentially tamper with a crime scene, so she’s on her knees out in the sub-zero temperatures of New York in January, uncomfortable on the gravel and desperately trying to cling close to her coat (a huge NYPD jacket Jake’s lent her) and hold her own hair back at the same time.

It’s safe to say this case isn’t off to a great start.

This isn’t what’s _meant_ to happen. It was meant to be open-and-shut. Simple. And yet, somehow, she’s had a feeling since the start that it’s been more.

The entire morning, her and Jake have been completely speechless. It’s the loudest silence she’s ever heard, every question heavy in the air. _Why would someone want to kill Kristoff Clare? Why would Kristoff Clare kill himself? What about the threats?_

_Are we going to talk about what happened last night?_

They’d arrived to cameras and reporters, crowded invasively outside the gate. Well-dressed women speaking into cameras, pointing at the house. It had hit her there and then, the actual magnitude of this case; one of the most famous businessmen in the world, dead, and all eyes on her and Jake.

The sight of the body was too much for her- the sickness thrumming in her body from driving for an hour on an empty, hungover stomach was _already_ clashing with the guilt, confusion, and questions twisting over in her mind from the night before. Then there was blood, and vomit, and a dead man on the kitchen floor- violently poisoned, by the looks of it. And like that, she was out here, on the ground, being sick.

She shudders, a tremor of cold creeping down her back. Another officer walks past, staring her down, and rolls his eyes. She’s got to pull herself back together, get back in there- despite the fact that she feels like she’s been hit by a car and she’d literally rather be anywhere else. As quickly as she can, she stands up, pressing the red-cold skin of the back of her hand to her forehead in a last attempt to subdue the pounding of her headache. After a deep breath, watching it appear like smoke in the freezing air, she begins back up the stone steps back into the house.

Despite everything happening- or everything that’s _happened_ , she supposes- Amy can’t help but take in how beautiful this place really is; the house is at least three or four floors, filled wall-to-wall with deep-coloured woods and lush reds and golds- about as stereotypically demonstrative of insane wealth as she could imagine.

As she comes back onto the main scene, she catches Jake’s eye across the room. Immediately, he’s walking over towards her, and her stomach wobbles threateningly again. He’s worried for her, she can tell. Part of her wishes he’d just leave her alone, stop being so good to her, as he always is, so she could focus on the task at hand.

“Ames. Are you okay?” He asks quietly as he approaches her.

Amy looks up at him simply and smiles weakly, only giving him a small nod.

“Jake…” she can’t help the strain in her voice. “I think… last night…”

“Oh, we don’t have to talk about that now,” Jake offers. “I know it’s all a lot, especially now-”

“We can’t…I don’t think we should do that again.”

She says it quickly, and just getting it off her chest alleviates the panic slightly; maybe it’s cowardly, on her part, but it’s _relief_ , from something she knows neither of them can explain. They can’t be starting a romantic relationship- or even a sexual one- in the middle of something like this.

“What?” His voice is quiet, but he looks at her sincerely.

“I think we… miscalculated. We were drunk, and overwhelmed,” she shakes her head, “and it was a mistake.”

With a dose of courage, she looks to Jake, and instantly, guilt courses though her, tight in her chest. He’s crestfallen, she can tell, but he’s trying to disguise it with a tense face, with the face of someone who’s thinking _hard_ \- his brow’s furrowed, his lips pursed, but his eyes can’t leave her, wide and dark and childlike.

“If that’s how you feel then you’re right,” he says after a second, “we shouldn’t do it again.”

Somehow, this hurts her more, that he’s as willing to dismiss it as she’s forcing herself to be.

“It’s just,” she stumbles, trying desperately to fix it, “you mean too much to me, as my friend… to complicate things.”

“Absolutely,” he agrees quickly.

“Good,” she smiles a little awkwardly, trying to ignore how utterly hollow this is making her feel.

“But I do think we should _talk_ about it.”

He looks at her like this is obvious, and another pang of guilt strikes her system; he doesn’t just look confused, he looks _disappointed_ , confused, like he was expecting her to at least explain her view of the evening. In all honesty, she knows she owes him that much; but it’s not that simple, not with all of this.

“We will,” she says simply, trying to act as though she can shrug it off. “But… I think it should be after this case.” She’s almost taken back by how blunt she’s managing to be, after a night that in any other circumstance might have the potential to be the start of something incredible, but right now feels like just another thing on the Anxiety Plate.

Jake looks completely lost.

“After the case,” he replies casually, as if he’s trying to convince himself that she’s telling the truth.

“You two. Ding-dongs.” Pembroke’s voice comes, stern, and Amy actually finds herself _relieved_ for the interruption- certainly the first time she’s ever been grateful to hear him. He walks over, watching them angrily. “Where _were_ you?”

“We went out last night with the nine-nine,” Jake says simply when Amy can’t reply, paralysed with the anxiety of getting into trouble, “and we overslept.”

“You were _three_ hours late to your crime scene. It’s pathetic. I could have you kicked off the case.”

“Sir, no,” Amy manages, but he’s already cutting in again-

“In fact, I actually _tried_ to, but it was pointed out to me that it could be a little ‘insensitive’ to the family if I kicked out the one detective Kristoff asked for by name.” He mimics air quotes at this, rolling his eyes.

“It won’t happen again,” Amy says firmly.

“Amy’s right,” Jake agrees. “It was one slip-up. It doesn’t mean we’re going to make the same mistakes again,” he explains, looking knowingly at Amy. She squirms a little in her spot, trying not to think about the double meaning of this.  

“Get to work,” he replies brusquely, turning to leave. For just a moment, Amy breathes a sigh of relief- until he turns around again, his eyes going straight to her shirt. She can’t help but assume he’s about to make an inappropriate comment, until – “Hey. Santiago. Am I correct in thinking you were wearing that yesterday afternoon?”

Her heart sinks even further, if that’s possible. Getting into trouble with a superior after messing up on the first day of a huge opportunity, and now being ratted out as some kind of crazy drunk.

“Uh, yes. I slept on Jake’s couch last night,” she responds quietly, knowing it’s entirely obvious she’s lying through her teeth.

There’s a short pause. Pembroke looks between them, and a small smirk creeps onto his face.

He knows.

“Right,” he says, rolling his eyes, his smile not faltering.

“Yeah. That seems about right.” Jake mutters.

“C’mon,” she nudges his shoulder wearily. “We have a murder to investigate.”

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

It’s not until she’s back in her apartment, stepping out of her shower, tightening a towel over hot, wet, _clean_ skin, that Amy begins to feel even slightly normal again.

The day’s been exhaustingly long. The estate, nothing short of completely eerie, became a kind of trap for the day, huge hallways and rooms filled with shadows, aching and creaking as though the old building was somehow _aware_ that its owner had been killed. Entirely isolated within just over 90 acres of land, there was something about that place, something that keeps her slightly tense even now, the bare trees and complete silence that enveloped the home haunting her.

Clinging to her towel, Amy wanders into the kitchen, lazily turning on her oven and heading over to her freezer. She pulls out her one and only frozen pizza and has it in the oven as quickly as she can, hunger nagging at her.

With her bedroom’s heating still busted, she has no choice but to use her living-room as a kind of all-purpose area; she towels off the residual water on her skin and pulls on a pair of sweatpants and a jersey, curling her fingers around the wool of the sleeves in a bid to calm some of the nerves leftover from the day.

On her coffee table sits all the information Jake’s scored so far running background checks on Kristoff’s family and staff- anyone who would have had access to the house- in a large stack of paper. Carefully, she begins to organise it, spreading it out into different piles for each person.

Straight away the normality of thinking through a case begins to work its charm on her, momentarily putting everything with Jake to the back of her mind. Not only that, but the oven must be warming up- the smell of pizza fills the living area, and for a moment, snuggled up in her favourite clothes in the warmth of her apartment and focused only on her casework, she feels at home.

Ten minutes later, with her files organised and a mostly-cooked pizza, she decides to sit down and acquaint herself more thoroughly with the information, so she can arrive at Major Crimes tomorrow completely equipped. Already, a small boost of confidence creeps into her system, propped up on the hope that tomorrow won’t- _can’t_ \- be as bad as today.

On one piece of paper, the first she picks up, are printed copies of the threats Kristoff had received, typed out on ripped up pieces of paper, apparently found on his desk almost every morning for a week. This adds a layer of confusion; how the _hell_ did this person manage to get these notes into Kristoff’s home? It would easily place heavy suspicion on the few people working there- Kristoff’s assistant, the maid, the visiting chef. Or, of course, a member of the family; somebody who would have had access to the house whenever they wanted.

Worryingly, this would make more sense; the motive would obviously lie in the insane amount of money up for inheritance as part of his estate. Though, of course, it’s not unheard of, Amy shifts uncomfortably at the fleeting thought of killing one of her own family members for money.

“Oliver,” she says out loud, picking up the first actual stack of papers. “Oliver Clare.”

Kristoff’s first son. Twenty-seven years old. Living in Manhattan. A degree in Computer Science from MIT, she notes, impressed- he certainly wouldn’t have needed a degree, with his family name.

Jake’s attached several articles to the back of Oliver’s records, all of which appear to be from page-six style websites. His almost-illegible writing is scrawled over the edges- _unwanted media attention._

In every single article, every photograph, spread out over whole years, Oliver is with his sister-

Angelica Clare.

Amy grabs the second stack of paper and begins to flick through her file. Eighteen years old. Smart, like her brother- graduated from an elite Upper East Side high school a year early- but not headed to college. At the back of her files Jake’s attached screencaps of her Instagram and her Twitter pages, as well as what appears to be some online shopping pages.

She has millions of followers, Amy realises immediately, her eyes skimming over the impressive, exultant pictures of cars, exotic islands, and Angelica all dressed up- and the online shopping pages are _hers_ , her clothing line. She’s a beautiful young woman, Amy thinks to herself, and she’s making it into her career. Part of her feels resentful of this, after seeing how amazingly Angelica performed in high school, but she tells herself off internally- it’s her choice if this is the life she wants to lead.

She can hardly blame her; her life looks like something out of a movie, luxurious, and youthful, and stupidly happy.

Until now.

So it only makes sense that Oliver’s only ever been photographed with her, always looking uncomfortable- this is _her_ path, not his.

Amy decides to move on, picking up the last stack of papers- the last family member. The ID picture displays a strikingly attractive older woman named Emilia Clare.

“Kristoff’s wife,” she finds herself saying under her breath- AKA the first in-line to the estate.

Emilia’s stack of papers is easily the smallest in Amy’s fingers, held together with a small pinch. She’s kept quiet, Amy thinks, looking through her career history- always existed on the sidelines. They’ll have to wait until they meet her.

Amy places Emilia’s papers back on her coffee table, as the lack of sleep and hunger for the pizza in her oven begins to overwhelm her.

Cold, and emotionless, three ID pictures of members of the Clare family stare up at Amy’s ceiling, entirely unaware of what’s to come.

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

An ache in Jake’s forehead, so familiar it’s almost numb, pulsates angrily under his temples at the sight of bright light.

The rooms in the Major Crimes offices are, in comparison with the nine-nine, livelier, bigger, and more modern- and Jake can’t help but hate it. There’s something horribly artificial about it all, the sense that nobody’s ever truly _here_ ; there’s no smell of burnt coffee, no bustling sounds of movement and voices, no personality.

He looks around the room he’s just entered; small, completely minimalistic- white walls, a slightly tired-looking carpet, a couple of plants, and no other furniture save a table with a few chairs surrounding it in the centre of the room.

It’s a hell of an interview room, Jake thinks to himself, glancing between the two officers standing on either side of the room, waiting for Kristoff’s family to arrive.

Quietly, he sits himself down at the table, sighing awkwardly just to make some noise, fill the dead air, if only briefly, with sound.

He checks his phone. 12:55pm. They’re due at 1, and Amy’s late. In comparison to her normal fifteen-minutes-early rule, anyway. He’s almost anxious for her, after years dealing with her insistence on arriving to appointments so soon, but he has an inkling that she’s fine, probably already here. Most likely? She’s avoiding _him_.

That sharp ache pierces in his head again at the thought of her, so painful he has to take a moment to let it pass, closing his eyes and pressing his fingers over the bridge of his nose. When he looks back up again one of the officers is giving him a slightly odd look. He ignores him.

It’s been a few days since it happened.

This, of course, he realises grimly, could refer to either of the huge events that took place that night- him and Amy sleeping together, or the murder of Kristoff Clare. He hasn’t mentioned this to Amy, though he’s sure she’s already realised that these events must have taken place around the same time. Even if he wanted to mention it to her, he reminds himself, it would be difficult- what with them not _speaking_ properly.

For the millionth time since that morning at the crime scene, Jake’s mind starts to taunt him again. Why did you say yes to her in that state, knowing the damage it would cause? Why did you kiss her back? Do you have _any_ good reason?

There’s something so cruel about it all. Being able to touch her, and hold her, and smile and laugh and sleep with a woman, _the_ woman that he’s cared about for so long, and for it to result in this.

The door clicks open, making him jump.

It’s Amy, carrying a small blue binder under her arm.

“Hey,” she says, smiling oddly, still avoiding his eye contact.

“Hi,” he replies, a little too enthusiastically, and immediately wants to slap himself.

“I think they’re outside, with Pembroke. We just need to set up,” she says, dropping her binder onto the table. “Are you okay? You look kinda pale,” she asks, but her tone’s brisk. She’s asking just to make conversation, Jake thinks, and he doesn’t blame her.

“Uh, yeah, just a headache.”

“Those gummy bears you keep in your desk drawer are catching up with you,” she smiles, and they both force a laugh. “Either that, or this stupidly high-end room. I feel like I’m in a hotel.”

“Right?” He sighs. “I miss the grungy, slightly damp interrogation rooms at the precinct.”

“They had more personality.”

“As would any room that’s dealt with as many spillages, accidents, and Hitchcock and Scully farts as that one has,” Jake says wistfully, and Amy laughs, for real this time. His chest tightens.

“Okay,” she says after a moment. “You ready?”

“Yup.”

“Remember-”

“They’re not suspects, not yet. I know.” Jake smiles reassuringly. “Don’t worry. I know we’re being watched.”

Amy nods worriedly and glances back at the door, evidently anticipating the entrance of the Vulture.

There’s a brief knock on the door, which then clicks open. They both stand quickly- Amy brushes down the blazer of her pantsuit nervously, a tick Jake’s used to. It’s almost comforting, being in an unfamiliar environment, and seeing her acting precisely the same. For a second, he’s feels the urge to whisper something teasing in her ear, but quickly stops himself, something sour hissing in his mind- that’s not what your relationship _is_ now _._

The Vulture comes into the room first, holding the door open as Emilia, Oliver, and Angelica follow him.

They’re beautiful, Jake thinks, as they walk in, almost doing a double take at the sight of them, even though he was only aware of Kristoff leading up to this case. Angelica’s huge fan following instantly makes sense; waves of perfect blonde hair fall from her head, flawlessly framing her impossibly symmetrical face and flattering her piercing blue eyes. Emilia is simply a more mature version of her daughter- slightly taller, modestly dressed, age lines accentuating parts of her face. Oliver is the spitting image of his father, a classic blonde hunk- though much more brooding than his mother and his sister, refusing to look anywhere other than the far wall.

“Detective Peralta, Detective Santiago, I’d like to introduce you to the Clare family. Angelica, Oliver, Emilia, these are the detectives working your father’s case. Two of New York’s finest,” he says, quickly shooting a curt smile at Jake.

“We’re so sorry for your loss,” Amy says sincerely as Pembroke brings them over to the table. Jake nods solemnly in affirmation.

“We’re going to do everything we can to have this solved so you can grieve peacefully,” Jake says earnestly, feeling a little like it’s the too-obvious thing to say- but what else can he offer?

At first, there’s no response, each of them looking as distant as the next, until Emilia smiles sadly.

“Thank you.” She nods once, a gesture that Jake and Amy immediately return.

As simply as that, they’re all sitting down. Jake picks up the paper in front of him, more to occupy his hands than anything else, trying to make the room feel a little more professional, anything to help these people feel secure- out of the corner of his eye he sees Amy do the same, straightening her back and sitting in the most poised position she can manage.

His eyes go to the Vulture, curious to see how he’s going to kick this all off- it’s a reflex, he supposes, after years of putting up with him taking over. To his shock, he does the absolute opposite.

“I’ll leave you with Peralta and Santiago,” he says casually. Amy looks at Jake quickly, questioningly, though she manages to keep her expression calm, so as not to alarm any of the Clare clan. “Please remember you can take a break at any time,” he continues, “anything you need.” He’s plastering on a smile that actually makes Jake even _more_ discomfited; his politeness couldn’t be more obviously false. “I’ll just be outside.”

Emilia and Angelica give him a small smile as he leaves. Oliver doesn’t move.

Like that, the Vulture is gone, and they’re all left alone.

“Okay,” Amy says eventually, “so… as you know, this interview is just to help us gather some initial information from and about you as a family. You’re under no obligation to answer all of our questions, but you should know that anything you tell us may be followed up or used in court.”

Emilia and Angelica nod silently. Oliver doesn’t shift whatsoever, stirring an uneasiness in Jake’s centre. He wants to brush it off; the kid’s grieving, after all. But even as Amy sets up the interview’s recording, his gaze doesn’t move. The longer he stays unmoving, the freakier Jake finds it. Eventually, he has to look away. This is no help- Angelica’s already looking at him, an element of curiosity in her unhappy eyes.

“We’re going to start by discussing the estate,” Amy explains politely. “Am I right in understanding that Oliver was the only one living away from the house?”

Everyone looks at Oliver, whose expression only seems to worsen, if anything, his shoulders tightening.

“Uh… actually,” Angelica steps in after a moment, her voice small, “I live in my parents’ apartment in Manhattan for a couple months at a time, so I’m not always home.” Amy pens this into her notebook, and suddenly Angelica’s expression changes, as if she’s messed up. “Sorry, I don’t know if that _counts_ , y’know, ‘cause it’s not technically _my_ place…”

“No, no, that’s good.” Amy reassures her with a soft smile. Jake watches the two of them, heartened for a moment by the slight relief on Angelica’s face.

“Before Kristoff died, he was receiving death threats, left on his desk each morning. Can any of you can think of _anyone_ who has access to the home who might leave these threats, or even carry them in for someone else?” Jake picks up where Amy left off, consulting the planned-out list of interview topics she’s left out for him.

There’s an odd quiet as they consider this.

“Nobody was ever in that house apart from dad,” Oliver speaks up for the first time, looking at Jake coldly. “So nobody would have noticed if someone had somehow snuck in. The threats could have been from _anyone_.” He says it matter-of-factly, a hint of anger in his voice.

“Right now we know nobody who was actually in the house the night your father died,” Amy responds slowly, looking quickly at her binder. “Aside from his assistant, Daniel, who found the body.” Jake recognises this fast glance at her work- she’s checking that she’s completely right. “Emilia, you were on a spa retreat, Angelica, you were at a party, and Oliver, you were… uh…”

“At home,” Oliver finishes her sentence, staring at her.

“Right,” Amy replies, but immediately Jake senses something off in her voice- and he doesn’t blame her. Oliver ultimately has no alibi- but they’re not ten minutes into this interview and can’t afford to piss him off, which doesn’t seem to be a hard task. “Emilia, I’d like to ask about Kristoff’s meds…” Amy continues swiftly, taking Oliver out of the hot-seat.

More than once, Jake looks up to see Oliver already staring at him, tired, angry eyes burning into him.

Whether or not he was involved in the murder of his father, Jake can’t tell- but his gut tells him there’s something wrong with this family, something under the surface. There’s something about them.

There’s something about Oliver.

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

“You two were real weird in there.”

Jake looks up at Amy over their desks, shooting her a look of sheer exasperation. Pembroke’s voice is jeeringly casual. One of the huge disadvantages of working here is, of course, being under constant threat of interruption from him. Not that there’s much to interrupt, Jake thinks bitterly- the two of them have been sat in total, awful silence, unless they’ve been sharing details about the case.

The office is small, almost a box room, with a tall window at the end looking out into Manhattan. It seems to be an extension of the Vulture’s office, more like a copy room than anything else.

“I guess we were a little thrown off,” Jake replies under his breath, “what with you leaving the interview before it even started.”

“Okay. If you wanna talk back, maybe you should head back to Brooklyn,” Pembroke smiles tartly, leaning lazily against the side of Jake’s desk.

“Uh, sir,” Amy cuts in- to Jake’s relief- clearly looking to alleviate the tension in the air. “About half an hour ago I found Oliver Clare’s name on the system, but his record was completely clean. It didn’t make sense, so I contacted the DA, and they said you’d already requested his record a couple days ago- could I have the copy?”

“He’s on the system?” Jake asks, surprised that Amy would keep this from him. Sure, things are awkward, but they’re supposed to be working as a team. She doesn’t reply, only glancing at him for a second.

“Oh, sure,” the Vulture replies coolly, “yeah, he’s done a _load_ of crap.” He half-laughs this, as if it’s somehow amusing.

Amy shoots Jake a look.

“Like what?”

“I dunno, like, a couple cases of assault, something about harassment at work, all that fun stuff. Nothing you wouldn’t expect from a rich kid.”

“That information is literally _critical_ to our progress in this case,” Amy says incredulously, looking between Jake and the Vulture in complete disbelief. Pembroke, wide-eyed, gives her a small shrug.

“I’ve been busy. I lift now,” he looks at Jake smugly, “even got the weights in my office.”

“Oh,” Jake says sarcastically, feigning interest, widening his eyes irritably.

“I guess I’ll go and get it from your office. Is it on your desk?” She stands up, rolling her eyes. When Pembroke nods in reply it’s only seconds before she’s left. Jake’s almost jealous of her; he can tell she’s angry- as is he- but being in this room is suffocating, after everything that’s happened, and the Vulture definitely isn’t helping.

“Hey, Vulture, buddy, quick question,” Jake smiles sardonically.

“’Sup?” He replies, seemingly unbothered by what’s become a constant use of his nickname.

“Any reason you’re making us do all the work here? Oh- and withholding information pertinent to our police work?”

“I wasn’t withholding anything, dummy, I just thought you were good enough detectives that you could find that crap on your own.”

“There’s a fault on the system, we would have had to ask the DA _anyway-_ ”

“As for the work,” the Vulture cuts in, “here’s the thing. Whether or not I actually _do_ anything, I’m the one getting most of the credit for this case, ‘cause I’m leading it. Why bother if I don’t have to?” He takes a nut from the open packet next to Jake’s computer and throws it into his mouth.

As simply as that, Jake’s blood is boiling.

He watches Pembroke as he stands up and heads out of the office, almost bumping into Amy as she walks back in.

“Hey, watch it, Ma.”

Amy rolls her eyes and waits for him to pass into the corridor.

“I’m going to _kill_ him,” she mutters under her breath as she walks back in and sits at her desk, a small table in the corner facing Jake.

“Honestly? I don’t blame you,” Jake agrees, stretching back in his chair in an attempt to alleviate some of the tension in his shoulders. “Y’know he basically just told me he’s not going to work this case _at all_ just because he’ll get all the credit from PR once it’s done?”

“He’s such a…” Amy shakes her head, conflicted, as she starts to busy herself with work again, clearly unwilling to call her senior officer a name when he’s in the next room.

“A butthead.” Jake fills in for her.

She smiles to herself, her dark eyelashes falling down against her face as she chuckles quietly. Sitting across from her, watching her try not to laugh at one of his dumb jokes, it’s almost like they’re back in the precinct.

“Yeah. A butthead.”

“Hey, if it makes you feel any better,” Jake stands up, grabbing a piece of paper from the printer behind him, “I might have a lead.”

“What?!” Amy perks up instantly.

“Well, I know we’re still waiting for the DNA from the scene, so it _could_ be worthless, but…” he hands her the piece of paper, an article from almost seven years back. “I give you- Julian Moretti, Emilia’s first husband and the proud owner of a restraining order from the Clare family!”

“Huh,” Amy smiles a little as she takes it in. “Angry ex-husband.” Jake watches her dark eyes skim the article. “Oh my god, he broke into the estate? That would mean-”

“He knows how to get in,” Jake grins.

“We’ve got to find him.”

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

Amy shifts uneasily into the passenger seat of Jake’s car as a chill creeps into the vehicle, sending a small shiver over her shoulders. It’s a harsh reminder of the weather, but a sweet reminder that the heating in her apartment is being fixed this evening. Something to look forward to.

Outside the street is a cold, dark blue, daylight coming in just a little too late, typical of this time of year. There’s something beautiful about it, though, she thinks, if a little melancholic; the bare trees, the cool light cast over the tall buildings. Perhaps it’s not the weather but merely the Upper East Side- or more specifically, East and 83rd, where they’re parked. Julian Moretti’s building.

A small rap on the window startles her. It’s Jake, holding a small coffee, whose label matches the sign above the place across the street. He flashes that goofy smile quickly, and she can’t help but smile back, rolling down her window.

“Thanks,” she says, taking it from him. He’s already making his way round the back of the car.

It’s in moments like these, over the last three or four days, that things have felt marginally normal, like they _didn’t_ sleep with eachother at the totally wrong time and mess everything up. Like she _didn’t_ completely cast it off and potentially make things even worse by not talking it through with him.

“God, it’s cold out there,” he mutters, shutting the door to the driver’s seat and taking a sip of his coffee. “And you’re the queen of being disproportionately freezing, so who knows how _you_ feel.”

“Better, now I’ve got something hot to hold.”

“Title of your sex tape.”

She looks at him oddly.

“Not your best.”

“Yeah,” he sighs, “clearly this case is messing with me.”

“Mm,” she mumbles in agreement through her coffee. “It’s been a crazy few days.”

She glances over at him. He seems hesitant to look back at her- but then he does, and for a moment, in total silence, it’s the most connected Amy’s felt to him since they slept together. It’s just eye contact- but it’s knowing, and kind of sad, and it seems to confirm the one thing she knows she’s been unconsciously trying to convince herself of: things are never going to go back to normal.

With a small smile she breaks this moment between them and clears her throat softly. She sees him immediately look away, understanding her signal. It’s hard not to feel bad; _clearly_ there’s something between them that isn’t going away, and she’s completely destroyed any chance of resolving it. And for what? Because she’s scared?

Jake’s fiddling awkwardly in his pocket, pulling out his phone. Amy can’t help but feel like it’s just so he has something to do. Guilt shifts nastily inside her- he’s not going to push it by bringing up their relationship purely because she’s asked him not to.

“Jake,” she says quietly, before she knows what she’s doing.

“Mm?” He responds too quickly, trying to play it off casually and completely failing- he pretends to relax back into his seat, something she’s never seen him do even in his laziest moments.

“I’m sorry.”

“Huh?”

“I shouldn’t have… uh,” she stammers, completely uncertain of what it is she needs to say. “I know we need to talk about what happened. You were right.”

He looks at her, eyes wide, and exhales deeply, almost laughing. As far as she can tell, it’s relief- it must be, because the sight of him relaxing instantly relaxes her, the small smile briefly darting across his lips sending a flutter of warmth through her.

“I’m sorry too. I’m super bad at emotions and this has been… like…” he widens his eyes, attempting to gesture something big with his hands. A genuine laugh ripples through her- this is the Jake she knows and loves.

“I know. I think that’s why I wanted to leave it until after this case, because it’s all been so unexpected…”

“Exactly.”

“And I know things aren’t going to be normal again…” she looks at him sincerely, “and honestly? I don’t want them to be. I do like you. A lot.”

He smiles lowly, looking down for a second.

“I like you too,” he says quietly. “But I understand that it’s a kinda messed up time to try anything.”

“Right, yes,” she agrees relievedly, “and we’re really good friends. And colleagues,” she adds, watching him nodding eagerly. “So there’s no reason things have to be this awkward until we have time to figure things out.”

“I’m completely with you,” he agrees reassuringly. “Now, want to go and interview Moretti and go back to our awesome work dynamic?” He smiles promisingly.

“You mean the one where I kick ass and you wish you could catch up with me?” Amy grins, a boost of confidence returning as quickly as it left.

“You wish,” he scowls teasingly, opening his door.

With that, they’re both making their way into Julian Moretti’s building, and for a second Amy could swear everything’s okay. Except now, when she makes Jake laugh, she doesn’t try to push down the heated, excited swelling in her chest.

When he’s talking about the case in the elevator and his expression shifts into one of concentration, she doesn’t ignore the way it makes her want him.

It’s like something new has been opened, as though she’s granting herself permission to enjoy him. To feel like she needs him.  

And yet, she realises, as they approach Moretti’s apartment, she can’t have him. Not yet.

But for the sake of the way they’re talking and joking and teasing, like they always have, she knows she’ll have to live with it.

Jake knocks on the door three times, firmly. There’s some shuffling inside- Amy looks at Jake oddly. He mirrors her expression, a little confused, as the hurried noises continue from the inside of the apartment.

Eventually the door opens, only partway at first- it’s still on the latch.

“Hey, who’s there?” A heavy, deep male voice comes from the other side of the door.

“Sir, this is the NYPD. We’re looking for Julian Moretti.”

“Oh.” In this one word, the voice changes entirely. The man unlocks the door and pulls it open. “Speaking,” he laughs awkwardly.

Amy can’t help but be surprised by his appearance- he’s remarkably average, in every sense; not too tall, not unfit but not in shape, dark-haired and in need of a shave.

Most notably, though, is the red blush in his cheeks, his ruffled hair, and the robe he’s wearing.

She looks over at Jake quickly. His expression matches hers.

They’ve just interrupted Julian having sex.

“We’re sorry for the disruption,” she cuts in quickly, trying not to wonder how this man is getting laid first thing in the morning- “we were hoping to ask you some questions in relation to the Clare family.”

“Yeah, I kinda figured,” Julian shrugs casually, “what with the restraining order, and everything.”

“Yeeaaaah,” Jake agrees bluntly.

“Break into a house once to try and get the love of your life back, and that’s what you get,” Julian drawls casually, as if it’s nothing. “Please, come in, sit down,” he ushers them in, and Amy can’t help but feel like he’s used to being visited like this, knows the etiquette. For the most part, though, he seems pretty chilled out. “Can I get you guys anything? Coffee?”

“That’s fine, thanks,” Amy smiles as they sit themselves down, “We’ll be quick.”

“We haven’t had any specific matches on the scene yet, but we _have_ been told that unidentified samples of DNA were found on the scene at Kristoff’s murder,” Jake explains the call they received from the lab this morning calmly. “No matches to anyone in the home- not Kristoff’s assistant, not the maid, none of the family members- long story short, we have a stranger on our crime scene.”

“So we have to investigate any and every lead,” Amy continues. “I hope you understand.”

“Sure,” Julian replies rather dismissively, as if he couldn’t care less.

“Kristoff was murdered on the twentieth of January at around two in the morning. Where were you around that time?”

“Shouldn’t I have a lawyer with me for this kind of stuff?”

“It’s your call.”

“Whatever,” Julian sighs. This alerts Amy for a moment- this guy has nothing to hide. “I was at home, asleep.”

“Alone?” Amy asks.

Julian opens his mouth to speak, but hesitates. Amy can feel herself narrowing her eyes a little as she watches him, and she’s sure Jake’s responding in the same way.

“Not exactly,” Julian admits.

Before Jake or Amy can speak, another voice cuts in.

“Julian, it’s okay, they ought to know.”

In a similar-looking robe, the unmistakable figure of Emilia Clare steps out from the hallway. Arms folded, she looks a little put out rather than sheepish, her cold eyes looking directly at Amy and Jake with a clear feeling of resentment.

“I was here that night,” she says calmly.

“Heeeeeeeeeeey, Emilia,” Jake practically sings.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

“So,” Amy kicks up her feet on her coffee table, relaxing into her couch. “Emilia and Kristoff were secretly separated as of about two weeks ago, and she’s been seeing Julian for almost a year.”

“Yup,” Jake replies from behind her as he bustles around her kitchen, the sounds of her fridge door opening and closing travelling through the room before he appears next to her with a bottle of beer.

“Thanks,” she says, taking it from his hand. “This means Emilia lied about her alibi to cover her ass.”

“You’d think she’d care more about seeming innocent in the murder of her ex-husband a little more than people finding out she was sleeping with her… first ex-husband,” Jake says, turning the words over carefully as he fiddles with the sleeves of his button-down so they’re both rolled around his elbows. “Actually, now I say it out loud, it does sound pretty bad.”

“As a general rule, I think rich people have the most scandalous issues.”

“Very true. Ever seen Gossip Girl?”

“No, Jake,” Amy says slowly, trying not to laugh, “I’ve not seen Gossip Girl.”

“Your loss,” he shrugs.

“Emilia didn’t care about the money- she wanted _nothing_ from the divorce,” she continues, reading over the papers in her hand.

“And she was already going back to Julian. I don’t think she had any reason to kill Kristoff. Wasn’t angry about the split, didn’t want the money…”

“Worst part is that the affair could explain the Stranger-DNA,” Amy sighs. “Julian would have been in that house.”

Taking a sip of her beer, Amy rolls her shoulders back in an attempt to relieve some of the tension that’s built up over the day.

“I just feel like we’re getting nowhere.”

“It’s been less than a week. We don’t have any useful information from the lab and there was little to no evidence on the scene,” Jake says calmly, “it’s not our fault.”

“Whoever did this did a damn good job at covering themselves.”

“What if someone _made_ him do it to himself?” Jake says quietly.

“What, like they forced him?”

“No, I mean… what if they weren’t there? All it would have taken was swapping out those pills. We could be looking at the wrong time frame.”

“That medication was daily, and he’d been up to date taking the pills, so it would have _had_ to have been swapped that day. And everyone we’ve spoken to has an alibi for almost the whole day,” Amy reminds him gently.

Jake’s face twists as he tries to think. Amy watches him quietly as she drinks her beer; he looks tired, his hair a little messy, a 5 o’clock shadow formed over his jawline, and the plaid blue shirt wrapped over his firm figure beginning to crease.

“Hey,” Amy says quietly, “let’s just call it a day. We’re both exhausted.”

Jake looks uneasy as he surveys the notes they’ve made that currently cover Amy’s coffee table, but after a moment of consideration he seems to give in, rubbing his face tiredly.

“Sure. I’ll finish my beer and head home.”

“Jake.” She looks at him. “It’s almost one in the morning, you’re not going home. Stay here.”

“Are you sure?” He asks carefully.

“Yeah.” She looks around, trying to think of a way to reasonably justify it. “We still have some Chinese food left.”

“And what better reason to keep me here than to eat our leftovers?” He teases, smiling stupidly. Amy shoves his shoulder playfully.

“Shut up. You know I want you here for reasons _other_ than eating my Chinese food.” She rolls her eyes.

He pauses, looking at her quietly.

“Do I?” His voice is low, a small smile still on his face. Amy rolls her eyes.

“Well, you’re my friend.”

“Sure,” he says quietly- immediately, Amy finds herself aware of how near he is, the murmur of his voice intimately close and the warmth of his body only centimetres from her.

“And this case has been very… draining. It’s good to have you here, is all I’m saying,” she tries to say this as casually as she can, but her heart is pounding in her chest; they’re both just a _bit_ too close, and neither of them are doing anything to stop it.

He nods, the small smile on his lips fading as they move closer.

Maybe it’s the time of night, or the exhausted haziness from almost a week of constant work- but when Amy finds herself kissing Jake again it feels like coming home, or falling into bed at the end of a long day. It’s not just want, not anymore. It’s need.

In a swirl of calm, every inch of her skin fizzes with butterflies; his lips are soft, supple, and his whole body radiates warmth. Her fingers find the top of his shirt, pulling him towards her. He moans from the very back of his throat when her fingers skirt over his skin, dipping under the fabric and over his collarbones; in appreciation he pulls her closer by her waist, a hand slipping up over the planes of her shoulders.

There’s something sweet, something _careful_ , about the way they’re handling each other, completely contrasting the night they spent at Jake’s. Each kiss is long, and tender, savouring each second. In small gaps Jake’s pressing kisses along her jawline, along her collarbone, and she’s returning the favour. Fingers in his hair, securing her leg over his hip so she’s sat on his lap, resting her head against his in each fleeting break of contact.

“Amy.”

As quickly as that, it’s over.

His body has gone stiff. Something’s not right.

She sits up. He’s looking at her with an expression she can’t describe; something caught between hurt, confusion, and even a little anger. Immediately, she realises what they’ve both just done, after _finally_ getting over the awkwardness of last week.

“This isn’t… this isn’t our deal.”

“I know, you’re right, I’m…” the word _sorry_ dies on her lips as she clambers off his lap awkwardly. “That was a mistake, I shouldn’t have-”

“No, neither of us should have,” Jake says firmly, avoiding her eye contact. The insistence in his voice startles her a little, wholly contradicting the sweetness and closeness of the last few minutes. Even though she knows it’s right, the rejection stings, a numbness in her chest beginning to spread over her. “Let’s just-”

“I’m… I’ll go to bed,” she murmurs quietly, and although she thinks she can hear Jake calling after her, she’s racing out down the hall and into her bedroom.

As soon as the door closes, she’s sinking down against it, tired and confused and guilty and yet somehow completely hollow.

In the dark, the only remaining sensation is the soft tingling from where Jake’s lips touched her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiiiiii ii i i i ii sorrrryyyyy
> 
> in terms of angst this is like... pretty tame in comparison with what's to come
> 
> the clare family is so spooky!! tf are they up to?!!! who knows 
> 
> ANYWAY hi I hope you enjoyed this and,, as per,, thank you v much for reading!! the response to the first chapter was brilliant and so motivational and I really appreciate it <3 thank u


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which everything would appear to go to shit!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings this chap for suicide. pls stay safe <3

In a whirlwind of lost, inaccessible shapes, Amy is running.

Air aches sorely in the back of her throat as she tries to catch herself breath; none of this makes any sense. The world around her isn’t hers. It’s dark, and dreamlike, and quite distinctly _wrong_.

Why she’s running, she’s not quite sure, but a sense of urgency rings around her- she has somewhere to be and if she doesn’t push on, something will go wrong. She knows it.

A figure appears in front of her. It’s a man, facing forward; she can only see the back of him and what appears to be the suit he’s wearing. For a second she thinks it’s her eighth-grade math teacher- who, for some reason, has a regular starring role in her dreams- but then she notices the unmistakable silver-blond mop of hair on the back of his head.

It’s Kristoff Clare.

He’s only a couple of metres ahead of her, so close she could reach out and tap him on the shoulder- as she does it, his shape jumps forward, as though he’s running even faster. With some effort she picks up her pace, hoping to catch up with him.

“Stop,” She’s choking. Her ribcage aches against the swell of her lungs, and her throat has gone numb- she can’t keep going much longer. “Stop-”

He turns so quickly she jumps in shock, everything around her blurring for a moment.

“What?” Kristoff’s voice is weak, a croak, as though he’s about to cough.

“You’re…” She can hardly find the words to speak. He splutters a little. All she can do is watch on in horror.

“Amy.” This word is clear.

“I’m here,” Amy tries, but she’s too quiet, and a lump has formed in her throat.  

Not that it matters; his coughing is developing into a kind of fit, spluttering and choking louder and louder until she’s anxious he might throw up.

Instead, he manages to stop, and clears his throat. Momentarily, relief floods over her.

“Amy.” He says her name again, crystal clear, his cold blue eyes wide and fixated on her now.

She opens her mouth to reply, which is when she sees thick blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. It’s disgustingly dark, a jarring thickness noticeable as it trickles out of him and over his chin, dripping oddly onto his jacket.

Her head is spinning. It’s just like it was at the crime scene- only now, she’s watching him die. His eyes widen as he coughs even more, blood splattering into his hands and through his fingers.

Amy can’t help it. A shriek escapes her at this- it’s like something out of a horror movie.

“Amy,” he tries again. His voice is becoming robotic, warped. “Amy.”

“ _What_?!” She almost screams.

“Amy, wake up.”

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

“Amy, wake up.”

In the darkness of her bedroom, Jake’s shaking her shoulder gently. He didn’t want to have to touch her, not after the events earlier in her living room, but she’s in so deep a sleep that she’s barely moving. She’s so peaceful, completely beautiful despite the visible exhaustion in her face. Part of him feels responsible for this; if he’d not reciprocated that kiss then he never would have had to make it awkward and push her off. Maybe she’d be a little less tired, a little _more_ peaceful, if he’d not added to the ugly, alien stranger their relationship is becoming.

He doesn’t want this. In fact, he’d rather do just about anything other than stay away from her, if not simply because the images from that first night together seem intent on remaining stuck in his mind. It’s ridiculous; they’re good friends, even better colleagues, and now everything’s falling apart. To make it all even better, he now needs to wake her up with bad news.

Part of him is genuinely worried- he’s been trying to wake her up for a good couple of minutes. Thankfully, she starts to stir, twisting over with small, confused noises.

He doesn’t blame her- it’s almost five in the morning, so not only has she only been asleep for about four hours, but it’s still dark outside, the only light in the room streaming in from the lamp in the hallway.

Suddenly, Amy gasps, so loudly Jake jumps. She jolts upwards, onto her elbows, looking around her room strangely. Her expression is pained, tight, in a way he recognises- she’s got a headache.

“Hey.” He says flatly. “I’m sorry to wake you up, but there’s been news-”

“Why are you still in my apartment?”

It’s not a question. That much is clear.

Suddenly, any trace of what he was about to explain disappears from his mind; she’s looking at him like he’s broken in, and he’s got no idea how to process it. As a pair, they’re a lot of things- but they’re not hostile. The sentence turns over in his head as he attempts to find a response.

The look she gives him hurts more than any of the confusion of the last couple weeks; it’s like he’s an intruder, like he’s done something wrong. Maybe he has. No, he definitely has. She looks at him pointedly, as if her asking this is obvious- it’s cutting, unfriendly, and so completely _un-_ Amy that Jake, for the first time in a long time, finds himself speechless.

“You told me to sleep here,” he says quietly, a little more defensive than he’d like, feeling stupid the second he says it.

Amy sighs, pressing her fingers over the bridge of her nose. She rubs her eyes and pushes back her covers, slipping out of bed. As she walks around the bed and heads for the door, Jake notices she’s in almost exactly the same state as they were when they got home a few hours ago.

He stands up from the bed and starts to follow her down the hall and into her kitchen, where, sleepily, she flicks on the coffeemaker and leans against the counter. It’s hard not to let this anger him, if not confuse him, the way she’s moving so seamlessly around her apartment after the way she’s just spoken to him. Eventually, she looks up at him, straight into his eyes, and all he can do is look at her in disbelief, waiting for an answer. He widens his eyes a little when she doesn’t say anything.

“I’m sorry, I just…” she murmurs, “I kind of figured the invitation was retracted after the whole thing before I went to bed. Or at least that you’d want to get away from me.”

A little surge of guilt courses through Jake’s veins. She seems equally as confused and hurt as him. Inwardly, he curses himself for kissing her again; it was both of them, sure, but he’d sworn to himself after the awkwardness resulting from their night together that he wouldn’t risk it again.

A voice in the back of his mind, deadly quiet, aches. It wants to ask how she could ever fathom, in any universe, that he’d want to get away from her. Tell her the only thing he regrets is hurting her. Instead, he manages two tactlessly small words.

“My bad.” His voice is quiet, but only because he knows if he’s any louder she’ll hear how much this is affecting him. Guilt churns within him, grim.

They stand in this horrendous silence for a good ten seconds before the coffee machine gives a small _beep!_ and Amy’s turning away from him again.

“So! Y’gonna tell me why you woke me up at…” Amy lifts her phone from where it’s charging on the counter. “Jesus, 4:56 in the morning?!”

“Oh.” Jake grimaces- for just a second, he’d forgotten. “Vulture texted about five minutes ago. Oliver’s neighbour called the cops because she heard weird noises, so we need to go. Now.”

Her face changes at this, and he knows she must have a thousand questions. But she doesn’t ask them, and he knows it’s because she doesn’t want to talk. Not right now, anyway- give her a couple cups of coffee and five minutes of vague organisation and she’ll prioritise the work, but right now Jake can tell the resentment towards him is preventing her from talking. Perhaps the best thing he could do is get ready. That’ll help.

He turns brusquely and leaves the kitchen, heading back out into the hallway to find the cardboard box he knows is buried somewhere in her closet, filled with clothes and other miscellaneous items he’s left at hers over the years. He needs to freshen up.

In the minutes that follow they prepare to leave, in complete silence, not uttering a single word to each other.

And although he _knows_ it’s the both of them, he can’t help but think, but _ache_ , that it’s his fault.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

At just short of half five in the morning, Jake’s knocking on Oliver Clare’s front door for the third time.

“One more warning, Oliver,” he raises his voice firmly, “this is Detective Peralta. I’m here with the police. Open the door.”

He looks over to the Vulture, who widens his eyes aggressively, gesturing to the door.

“Okay, we’re going in,” Jake says firmly, quietly to the small group around him; Amy, Pembroke, and a few slightly tired-looking officers called in for backup that Jake doesn’t recognise.

With his fingers, he gestures a countdown- three, two, one.

The slight pain jarring through Jake’s shoulder is a frustrating reminder that he’s a little out of practice when it comes to breaking down doors- but that’s the last thing on his mind once he’s inside the apartment.

On sight, everything has changed.

A sickening rush floods into Jake’s head and for a second he feels faint. There’s a murmuring hubbub of discontent, as far as he can tell- the only voice of which he’s certain is Amy’s, when, under her breath, the words _oh, god_ slip out.

Orange patches of streetlight only give light to about half the room. But it’s more than enough to tell that Oliver Clare has hung himself.

In all his years on this job, Jake’s only ever encountered a few suicides- but this is the first by hanging. It’s pretty safe to say he’ll never forget it, the panicked burning in his chest a clear indication that this is evolving into a mental scar.

“Jesus.” Pembroke’s voice, disgusted, is the first one to break the silence.

“Uh, nobody go any further,” Jake hesitates, realising by knocking the door down they’ve potentially just affected the scene. He’s not proud of the way his voice wobbles, but he can’t unsee what’s in front of him, the lifeless eyes, the pale skin-

“Peralta?”

A hand belonging to one of the men on Pembroke’s tactical team is on his shoulder, which is when Jake realises he’s frozen in his place. He looks at him questioningly- Jake swallows thickly and nods at him, _I_ _’m fine_ , and turns to look at the others.

His surroundings are a blur. Both Amy and the Vulture have their radios to their lips- Amy jams a finger into one of her ears as she speaks, distracted. Jake wills himself to move, or speak, or just do _something_ , but the image of what he’s just seen is momentarily burnt into his brain and he’s not sure he’s actually capable of anything, for now.

Why’s this bothering him like this? Before he knows it he’s pacing out of the room, removing himself as quickly as he can. He can’t just stand in the middle of this room and do _nothing_. He’ll make some calls, figure out just how far they can investigate this- but first he needs to breathe.

After a few minutes, the first of many nasty thoughts reaches him.

 _You could have prevented this_.

Perhaps it’s true. Perhaps it’s not. Jake isn’t particularly fond of the voice in the back of his head, especially recently, what with his seemingly ever-imploding relationship with Amy. He’s secure enough to know it’s unrealistically negative, but he’s miles away from being able to drown it out. It won’t leave him. It’ll keep him awake, strong and certain and doubtful of everything Jake knows. And he hates it.

“Jake.”

Amy’s beside him, stony-faced and a little pale. Despite this, there’s concern in her eyes, and although everything’s crumbling down, he knows she’s there for him. This is why she’s good at what she does, he thinks, a complete professional in response to all of this, while he’s cowering in the hallway.

“They… uh, there’s a note,” she says quietly, her voice sad, and low, and even a little resentful. “Jake, he admitted to everything.”

“Wait. What?” Jake finally manages words, stunned now into a different layer of shock. “Oliver killed his father?”

Amy nods, pressing her lips together. Her expression is almost blank, eyes wide with confusion.

“For the money?” He utters quietly, speaking to himself. “No. That doesn’t make sense.”

“Maybe it was something else. He’s got a record… he was difficult to speak to…”

“No, no way-”

“I’m just saying,” Amy raises her voice over Jake’s protest, “We’ve barely spent any time on this case. We don’t _know_ everything.”

“It doesn’t feel right.”

As the sound of sirens begins to near in the streets outside, promising further chaos, Jake watches Amy come closer to him, turning so they’re both looking into the room where Oliver Clare’s life came to an end.

“I know.”

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

“What was his behaviour like at home?”

Under the table, Amy’s picking at her fingernails, peeling and pulling until they’re stubs. It’s a bad habit of hers, and one she needs to watch- on a particularly strenuous case several years ago she managed to make one of her fingers bleed without even noticing.

Across from her sits the Clare family’s last maid, an older woman by the name of Greta. She’s kind, and warm, and as hideously shocked and sad as everyone else is about this mess. Something about her calms Amy- which is just as well, seeing as it’s been almost a week since Oliver’s death, and neither Amy nor Jake seems able to find anything suggesting it was suspicious.

“Quiet. Brooding. Angry,” Greta nods, her gaze distracted, brows furrowed. She too, Amy thinks, must be realising that Oliver was far more dangerous than she ever believed. “I suppose, to me, he just seemed like a typical spoilt teenage boy.”

The unfortunate fact is that everything adds up: from Kristoff’s colleagues to the family maid to the only friend of Oliver’s they’ve been able to source, it’s become clear that this boy, this man, was distant, cruel, and bitter.

Neither Emilia or Angelica are ready to talk. With two family members gone, just like that, in less than a month, nobody’s surprised. Nevertheless, with absolutely no leads and a gnawing feeling that something’s not right, Amy’s spent the majority of each of these interviews wishing she could talk to one of them, listen to something that’s not coming from an outsider to Oliver’s home life.

“Was he ever violent? Threatening?” At the sound of the tiredness in her voice, Amy has to straighten her posture in a bid to convince herself that she’s still awake and professional.

Thankfully, Greta doesn’t seem to notice- she’s deep in thought, her face crumpled up, gloomy eyes fixated on some random spot in the corner of the room.

“Once,” she says, finally.

Amy’s ears prick up at this, at the defeat in Greta’s voice. She hates how desperate she is to hear something different, an answer that _isn_ _’t_ suicide. Perhaps it’s selfish, but if this case ends like this, she’ll never forget it. It’ll never really feel like the right thing has been done, if this case has to be shut with two grieving, horrified women left behind.

Greta seems to be struggling, hesitant to explain.

“Take your time,” Amy says in a voice she prays is reassuring. Greta smiles sadly over at her.

“Years ago. There was this… flask. A decanter. Crystal. It was priceless,” she tuts, shocked, as if reliving the incident. “Oli couldn’t have been older than thirteen or fourteen. He was arguing in the kitchen with his father, louder and louder and louder until suddenly it went very quiet. That normally meant Kristoff had won. And Oli came _storming_ out into the hallway, and picked up that decanter, and threw it through the doorway to the kitchen. At Kristoff.”

“Was Kristoff angry?” Amy’s voice is small, unable to comprehend what might have happened if anyone had deliberately smashed something in her childhood home.

“I’ve never seen him like it,” Greta admits, looking at Amy again now. “But they were always like that. Fighting.”

Amy sighs. It all lines up- violent, resentful son in line to a hell of a lot of money killing his father.

“Thanks for your time, Ms. Alfonso. That’s all I need.”

They stand up, and Amy walks her to the door of the interview room, where a tall male officer is waiting to escort her out. Amy waits until she’s out of sight before she makes her way into her and Jake’s workspace, A.K.A. the armpit of Pembroke’s office.

Jake’s at his desk, an earphone in one ear, kicked back in his chair with a stack of papers in his hands, which he reads intently. He glances up as she walks into the room, then back down again. They’re not exactly on the friendliest terms, after that night in her apartment, and the fact that this case seems to be spiralling towards a bitter, shitty end isn’t helping. Sure, they’re working together, but the whole mess lingers- you could cut the atmosphere with a knife.

“This is bullshit.”

Jake’s eyes widen at Amy’s use of profanity at work. She’s sunk into her chair, defeated.

“No luck with the maid?”

“No,” she says simply, avoiding Jake’s gaze, choosing to stare at the ceiling instead. “I think there’s a real chance Oliver was a messed-up dude who wanted revenge.”

“Yeah. I think so too,” Jake agrees, leaning forward and pulling out his earphone.

Amy looks at him questioningly. The last week, he’s been even more desperate than her to find something to prove someone else was involved somehow, almost worryingly so- if there’s one thing he can’t stand, it’s being a let-down.

“Go on.”

“School records,” he announces, flicking through the papers on his desk. He licks his finger and pulls out a slim percentage of the papers, before stretching over his desk so he can hand it to Amy. “He’s been in therapy on and off for years.”

“Oh my god.” Amy feels her heart sink a little lower as she examines the papers. “If we’d just been looking in the right _place_ …”

“I know. I keep thinking that too.”

There’s a pause, the weight of this whole ugly thing hanging in the air. They’ve had a maniac under their noses the whole time, right in front of them. There’s no noise of the nine-nine to soften the blow, no even mild pride that they were even close to bringing Kristoff and his family to justice.

Amy looks at the clock on her phone. 5:13pm.

“My place?” She says out loud, standing up and swinging her bag over her shoulder. Jake looks at her oddly. “Not like _that_ , obviously,” she sighs. “I don’t want to stop working.”

“No, neither,” Jake yawns, stretching in his chair.

She moves towards the doorway of Pembroke’s office, but finds she’s stopping herself, one hand on the doorframe. Behind her, she can hear the shuffling of Jake and his things as he prepares to follow her.

“Hey,” she says quietly, not looking back at him. “Can we just be normal tonight?”

It sounds far less like a question than a demand, she thinks, and perhaps that’s because that’s what it is. She still feels weird, and conflicted, and maybe a little hurt, and she’s sure he does too. Talking it through makes no difference, as proven by their conversation outside Julian’s. Besides- functioning on three hours of sleep and endless Clare-case horror stories, she’d rather die than talk about their relationship right now. She wants to work, and get something _good_ out of this case, and rest.

“Yeah.” Jake’s voice is a little indignant, like he wouldn’t expect it any other way. He’s being nice.

Amy turns now to give him a small, tight smile, and walks out of the office.

The clean, polished interior of Major Crimes is, in the darkening early evening, lit by grim fluorescent lights. These offices are filled with strangers. Amy’s almost grateful; she feels ill with guilt.

As her fingers press the button to the elevator, the tiniest part of her wonders whether they’d have been in the right mindset, figured all of this out a little sooner, if only she hadn’t kissed Jake that night.

She doesn’t want to know.

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

“Ames, wake up.”

Jake’s voice is low.

Amy jolts upwards, her head hanging back. It’s fine- she wasn’t _really_ asleep, just heading in that direction. Eyes closed, body begging for rest, all that nonsense.

“What time is it?” Her voice is a croak.

“Almost one in the morning,” he replies, rubbing his eyes.

“And we’ve got nothing.”

“No.”

Honestly? Amy kind of feels like crying. Perhaps that’s just the exhaustion and the interchangeable diet of either takeout or coffee every twelve hours. She leans forward and picks a piece of chicken out of a satay box. It’s not as good as it was two hours ago, but it’s food. Jake seems similarly deflated. Surrounded by papers, his eyes drift back and forth over the same things, not really concentrating. It’s a habit of his, when he gets stuck and won’t ask for help, one with which she’s all too familiar.

“What’re you looking at?”

“Uh. All the behavioural stuff. School records. Everything on the system.”

“Why?”

As soon as Amy’s asked this, she regrets it. Jake’s expression turns from tired confusion into disbelief.

“The same reason you’re still looking at your notes, Amy. We let a murderer slip through our fingers and end his own life before we could make sense of any of it, and now we want there to be another explanation.” He sighs. “I need coffee.”

He stands up and heads for the kitchen.

Amy’s never seen him like this. It’s not anger, per se, but it’s not far off. It’s like she can see every doubt and concern churning over and over behind his eyes. He’s tired. He’s stressed. And she completely understands. For a moment she’s filled with a little hope- if they can just repair themselves a little, know that they have this case in common and go back to normal, this entire mess doesn’t have to be in total vain.

“Maybe…” she follows him into the kitchen, leaning against the counter while he fiddles with her coffee machine, a seasoned professional. “Maybe we have to consider the possibility that Oliver would have done this whether we’d been onto him or not.”

Jake doesn’t reply to this- instead, his brows only seem to knit together more closely. She’s just added another thought onto whatever’s already brewing in his head.

“I just mean,” she adds softly, trying not to sound patronising, “I’ve been thinking about it and I think we’re being harsh on ourselves. It’s not our fault.”

Instantly, Jake’s looking at her, those dark eyes shooting straight into hers. For a moment that feels like forever, he doesn’t say anything, and Amy genuinely can’t fathom what he’s thinking. There’s some anger there, absolutely, but he mostly just looks lost.

“Amy, if we both feel guilty, and _tired_ , and overworked, and we know our relationship is making this more difficult, then why aren’t we talking? I mean, y’know, we’re _talking_ ,” he stammers, “but not like we used to. Not normally. Even when we try.”

Amy feels her hands go clammy against the counter. Unfortunately, she’s been asking herself the same question for the last week or so, and the only conclusion she can come to is that they can’t find the right time to talk, which, honestly, seems a copout. She’s not _wrong_ ; they’re busy, and stressed, and under pressure, and adding the pressure of beginning a romantic relationship would just be ridiculous. But he’s right- they need to be able to lean on each other for support, and after the almost-incident at hers the other week, going near each other has felt a little risky.

“Because we had sex,” Amy says simply, “and sex ruins everything.”

Jake laughs weakly, but she can tell it’s genuine. The moment gives her hope, a small feeling of what they were like before this all happened. He sighs, a long, deep release, as if abandoning some of his anxiety, allowing his hands to find his eyes.

 “I need sleep.” His voice is muffled, speaking into his palms.

“I think,” Amy steps towards him, snaking her arm around him and flicking off the coffee machine, “that’s a very good idea.”

They’re close. She can smell what’s left of his cologne, a masculine, warm scent, and it almost makes her shudder, breaking a drunken memory of that smell as close to her as humanly possible. But neither of them moves.

Amy can’t bring herself to look up at him- as cliché as it sounds, she knows she’ll kiss him on sight, or worse.

“Jake.” She steps back but avoids his gaze, fiddling awkwardly with her hands.

“Yeah?”

“I don’t want to wake up tomorrow and still wonder what you’re thinking, or if I’ve ruined our friendship-”

“ _-you?_ ”

“- so I feel like we should talk.”

“Me too.”

“Obviously, I have feelings for you.”

“You do?”

For a second she thinks he’s joking. When she finally looks up at him she realises he’s not.

“Yeah,” she says reassuringly. “We may not have the best _timing_ , or make much sense, but… y’know…”

Her heart is pounding in her chest. She feels like she’s twelve years old.

“Yeah. I know. I like you too,” Jake says easily, a smile spreading across his face.

Amy smiles up at him. They enjoy this for a second, the first genuinely sweet moment they’ve shared in weeks.

“I think it’s pretty clear, what with everything that’s happened thus far…”

“ _Thus far_ ,” Jake teases, his grin reappearing as he rolls his eyes. She hits his elbow, but inwardly thanks the stars he’s acting a little more like himself.

“… we know shouldn’t be starting something serious right now.”

“Yeah. We’ve learnt our lesson.”

For some reason, his willingness surprises her.

“But we _do_ need to be there for each other, and work together, because that’s what we do best. We work this case and accept that sometimes there’ll be weird romantic things and we’ll need to move on, because…” she pauses, desperate to find the perfect words. “Because we deserve a chance to figure out what we are _outside_ of this case.”

“Exactly,” Jake nods, apparently as relieved as her at whatever this resolution is. “For the record, once this case is really, actually over…” he fumbles for thought. “I’d totally have drunken sex with you in an elevator again.”

Amy snorts. She draws her hands over her cheeks, embarrassed, feeling how warm they’ve become. He laughs, too, and she catches sight of that huge, joyful grin, bringing her a true moment of peace.

“I can’t believe we did that.”

“I can.”

In the dim, occasionally flickering light of the kitchen, he smiles over at her.

She lights up.

 

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

 

After the moment they both need to get their breath back, Amy and Jake lie still, pressed against each other, no clear feeling of what to do next.

Jake wills himself to say something funny, ease the tension, but all he can focus on is the cold tile of Amy’s kitchen floor against his legs and her still very naked body underneath him. Suddenly he’s worried for his weight on top of her- He should move, he thinks, let her get up. When he’s rolled over she sits up, looking at h

“Didn’t we just agree not to do that?” She laughs weakly, pulling her shirt down from the counter and slipping over her shoulders.

“I mean, depending on how you look at it, that wasn’t _serious_ ,” Jake smiles.

Amy smiles back at him, pulling herself up off the floor. Her hands find her arms, rubbing them vigorously- she’s _already_ cold, he realises, his chest lighting up affectionately.

“I should probably spray down these counters.” Her voice breaks into a laugh as she says this, like she can’t believe she’s saying it out loud, and Jake’s heart swells so hard he momentarily feels a little dizzy.

“What time is it?” He asks, following her as she pulls on the pyjama shorts she’d been wearing before all of this, trying not to ogle at her bare legs like the teenage boy inside wants him to.

“I don’t know, like… three? Where’s my phone?”

“Couch?”

“Right,” she smiles, tired, and heads back out towards the living area.

In his hands he holds the clothes he was wearing earlier on- a shirt, his hoodie, his jeans. He’s exhausted, and the idea of putting any of these onto his body again is almost distressing, which is impressive, seeing as he’s currently stood ass-naked in her kitchen while she dresses herself.

“D’you have any of my other clothes here?”

“Yeah, same place as usual,” she says, distracted as she digs around the couch cushions for her phone. He walks as stiffly as possible out of the room, conscious of his bare ass being the last thing she’ll see as he walks away.

Jake’s heart is hammering away in his chest, racing so quickly he’s not sure if he’s excited or anxious. He snakes around the counter and down the hallway towards Amy’s room- next to her dresser, on the floor, is the Jake Box, filled with whatever crap he’s left here over the years. Sweats, shirts, trash, and even, at one point, his badge.

He finds some suitable attire and pulls it on quickly, immediately pleased with how comfortable they are. For a moment his eyes go to her bed. If they’ve just had sex, surely that means he’ll be sleeping here tonight, right? The excited pumping in his chest turns to something more anxious, realising how many moments like this they’ll have if they begin dating. It’s not like he cares- he likes Amy romantically just a bit more than he loves their friendship, and has no hesitation about crossing that line- but he’s not hugely confident he’s the best at handling stuff like this. Every relationship he’s ever had has been strictly romantic. This is his best friend, and his colleague, and someone who probably doesn’t even know how much he cares about her. He can’t afford to screw it up.

The sheets are impossibly well-made, crisp and fluffy as though they’re brand new. Softly he brushes his fingers over them, curious, more than anything, subconsciously trying to picture what it’d be like to wake up here with her, _live_ here with her. Which side of the bed is hers? Does he still hog the blankets? He should try not to. A noise from the kitchen snaps him out of it, which is when he notices she’s not yet appeared- she must still be looking for her phone.

The whole apartment is dark. As Jake approaches the living room Amy is methodically drawing the curtains, switching off the lamps, flicking off the TV. He smiles to himself- it’s like she’s putting her home to bed. The lights in the kitchen, too, are no longer cast out into the living area. Sure enough, there’s also a bottle of surface cleaner and a cloth on the edge of the counter. Just as well, he thinks, after the things they’ve just done on those surfaces. Amy works quickly.

“Hey,” he says quietly, moving over to where she stands by the window and slipping a hand around her waist. “Let’s go to bed.”

She twists so she’s facing him, and immediately he knows something’s wrong. He’s not sure what- she’s smiling up at him, leaning herself into him, but her eyes are far darker than usual, almost sad.

“Y’okay?”

“Mm,” she says, too quickly. She smiles a little meekly. “Tired.”

“Did you find your phone?”

“Oh, yeah. And yours,” she says, handing it to him. “C’mon, bed.”

Like that, she’s taken off, the sound of her bare feet against the floorboards creating an audible trail of her heading towards her room. He watches her, concerned. Maybe he’s overthinking, and she really is just tired.

When he opens his phone, guilt surges through his system.

 

**_(718) 499-8108_ **

**_Hey. The other night after the bar was really fun. I don_ ** **_’t know if you remember giving me your number but we should do it again. S_ **

 

He most definitely was _not_ overthinking, and now god only knows what’s going through Amy’s head, if she’s even seen it. This lightens the load by the most miniscule percentage- Amy might not have seen this. But if she has, oh _god_ , if she has, he may never forgive himself. He feels a little sick.

All he can think to do is find her, see if she says anything. If she hasn’t seen it then he’ll mention it tomorrow, assure her this woman was before anything had happened with her, and he hadn’t even told _Charles_ about it, literally because he was so embarrassed about how little it meant to him-

When he reaches Amy’s room she’s passed out on top of the covers, clutching her pillow.

After he’s occupied the other side of the bed as quietly as he can manage, Amy twists over onto her back. Her hand reaches out lazily, her eyes still closed, and her fingers interlace with his.

At her touch his worries immediately melt away, and soon enough he finds himself drifting off alongside her, only the vaguest remainder of troubling thoughts left over in his head. Of only one thing he is certain:

He can’t mess this up.

 

 

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

 

A rare spot of afternoon sun filters through the window into the office, warming Amy’s shoulders. The day’s been long, and slow, and a little depressing- in all corners of the office the word is out that this case is over. No more media, no more theories, no more celebrities being probed for evidence.

After a morning re-evaluating every scrap of evidence they had left, they’d resorted to completing the finishing paperwork for the case. Emilia and Angelica were both notified that it was looking unlikely to impossible that anyone other than Oliver could have killed Kristoff, and Jake had even sworn he heard the Vulture talking about speaking to the press for a final time.

It’s over.

This angry, nasty little phrase keeps cropping up in Amy’s head, and, to put it shortly, it’s pissing her off. They’ll have to go back to the nine-nine with no semblance of success, knowing that Holt is probably disappointed in them. They were called in as his favours, and they’ve clearly let him down. The only potential benefit of this whole thing ending is the freedom they’d have to start seeing each other, romantically, and even that still feels complicated and daunting.

She hadn’t meant to look at his phone last night- it’s a newer model than hers, and the screen lit up when she picked it up. Her heart sank so hard she wondered if it might fall out of her ass. She’d needed him last night, and she knew he needed her too, so to think of him with another woman only minutes after they’d slept together was a little… much.

It could have meant anything- she couldn’t bring herself to confront him about it. He hadn’t said anything all day, so it doesn’t seem like it’s a big deal. Of all people, he’s not a cheater, and of this she’s completely certain, even with him receiving texts from another woman. The problem is that since they had sex that first night, they’re not, and never really _have_ been together. They’re not boyfriend and girlfriend. They’re not in the beginnings of a relationship. Or maybe they are- the only thing Amy knows is that he likes her, and she likes him, and they can’t seem to keep their hands off each other. That, and that they’re going to try and be in an actual relationship once this is all over.

Across the room, he’s sat at his desk, his gaze darting concentratedly between the computer monitor and whatever paperwork he has in front of him. She’s not sure she’s ever seen him so focused in his life.

In the quiet, accepting this is all coming to a close, she lets her mind drift. So she’s had a huge professional screw-up, and it’ll almost definitely look bad on her record. But on the horizon is a romantic relationship with Jake, which does just about everything from shocking to scaring to exciting her, electricity bubbling in her core at the very thought of him. It’s like being a teenager and having her first real crush all over again, completely unable to keep him out of her mind. Except now she doesn’t have to fantasise about him; she’s felt every centimetre of him, and it only makes her want him more.

Her phone buzzes so violently on the table it makes her jump.

Jake looks up curiously, and rightly so- she never lets her phone go off at work. It’s an unrecognised number, but she recognises it, even if vaguely.

“Hello, Amy Santiago speaking.”

Out of the corner of her eye she sees Jake smile to himself, amused by her greeting. She ignores him.

“Hi, Amy, I know you’re busy. This is Emma-”

“Emma as in Emma the M.E.?!” Amy sits up.

“Right! We spoke a couple days ago. You reordered the autopsy for Oliver Clare.”

“I did,” she replies carefully, remembering her desperation. Internally she steels herself for the bad news. It was a dead end, but one she had to chase.

“I think you made a good decision, Detective Santiago.”

“Oh?”

“It’s not… _definite_ , but you told us to look for anything.” There’s a small pause on the line. “I’ve found a small indentation at the back of his skull and a small mark above the nape of his neck, potentially signifying-”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Amy jumps up, now on her feet, earning a startled look from Jake. “Oh my god. He could’ve been hit.”

Emma keeps talking, explaining that they’re putting the report together right now, but that Amy is free to visit the office if she has any questions, but it doesn’t matter, because Amy’s hardly listening. All she can hear is exactly what she _wants_ to hear, over and over and over again.

Oliver Clare was murdered.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI ! sorry I took one thousand whole years to update this lol 
> 
> if anyone's here then hi, thank you for your patience, or welcome, if you've just started reading this now I've updated! I've had absolutely no motivation and then it suddenly hit me and I OVERCAME the block 
> 
> anyway!!! lots of ups and downs!!! who's the mystery texter? is the investigation about to be reopened? are Amy and Jake ever gonna sort their shit out? who knows! tune in next week to find out


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the saga continues. prepare for emotions kids I wrote the back-end of this chapter after two glasses of wine

As a detective, Amy’s made habit of reminding herself that she can never know anything for sure.

Today, standing to the side of Major Crimes’ biggest press junket yet, she has changed her mind. There is one thing of which she has never been more certain.

Keith Pembroke is an asshole.

As a self-respecting woman with at least half a shred of common sense, she’s always suspected it- but standing here, now, watching him take credit for her decision to reorder Oliver Clare’s autopsy, it’s decidedly clear.

Though it’s far from the reason she works where she does, Amy will happily admit that she enjoys receiving credit for her work. Being humble is one thing, obviously, but where it’s due, there’s nothing wrong with accepting praise for your hard work. Of course, she’s been told she’s a teacher’s pet- she can be smug, proud, and hugely competitive. But _this_ is just insanely unfair.

She watches Pembroke, sat next to the commissioner. A seemingly endless tide of camera flashes blind the air, a room full of eager eyes, and he’s lapping it up- he’s not even smirking, putting on his Serious Face, and somehow this infuriates Amy even more. He’s doing everything he can to make himself convincing, like it was _him_ who figured out Oliver might have been murdered, when he’s actually a total asshat who’s done virtually _nothing_ this entire case-

“Hey.”

Jake, stood next to her, smiles lowly down at her. “You’ve got crazy eyes again,” he says under his breath.

Amy stays quiet- it’s unlikely that anyone would see them talking and question it, but she’s not sure she can even bring herself to risk it.

They must have opened the floor to questions, because suddenly the room is filled with the noise of eager voices competing to make themselves heard.

“I’m fine,” she says calmly to Jake, smiling politely, while she has the chance.

She’s not fine. She’s angry, confused, and determined to find out who hurt Oliver Clare. If it’s not torture enough having to stand here and watch the Vulture take credit for her work, it’s taking _too_ long, and she desperately wants to be working.

It’s not like she’s really in the mood to have Jake comforting her, either- since she saw that text on his phone last night, she can’t help but feel a little wound up. She knows it’s petty, especially if she’s not going to ask him about it or give him a chance to explain, but they’re finally in a _kind-of_ good place and she doesn’t want to ruin it by bringing something unnecessary up. Anyway, it could be nothing. It _is_ nothing. If he wanted to see someone else, he’d see someone else.

There is, of course, the possibility that he’s seeing someone at the same time as their relationship-slash-not-relationship is happening. Amy can’t bring herself to believe it, but men she’s known have done worse.

All of a sudden, everything hits her. Jake, the case, the look on Pembroke’s face- her jaw aches slightly and before she knows it she feels sick to her stomach.

“I can’t be here,” Amy whispers quickly.

“What?!” Jake hisses back, but she’s already silently making her way out of the room.

Thankfully, it’s not too hard to be quiet. If the sudden tide of voices is anything to go by, they’re taking questions. She’ll be unnoticed.

The near-empty hall she finds herself in is far cooler, and she immediately finds herself more relaxed as a result. There’s a little residual dizziness, but nothing she can’t handle- she sinks into a seat off to the side and rubs her temples in a futile attempt to slow it all down.

There’s movement from the other side of the hall, which must mean things are coming to a close. Amy wipes the small sheen of sweat from her forehead and takes a deep breath. Her head is pounding, every negative emotion possible is boiling over, and she’s just about ready to punch somebody in the throat.

“Keep going, Amy.”

There’s no real _belief_ in the words she’s speaking to herself, but hearing it is enough to get her back on her feet and moving towards the exit. Through the doors, and into the parking lot, and into her car, and back to the office. She wonders if she should wait for Jake, then decides against it. If she’s going to work she needs to be focused, and she can’t have him in her front seat and spend the entire time wondering if that text on his phone was from a girl, or worse yet, somebody who actually mattered to him.

No. Instead of waiting for Jake, she keeps repeating the same words over and over in her head.

Keep going, Amy.

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

 

“Thanks for meeting me. This should be pretty… brief.”

“No worries. I just want to help.”

The young, handsome man sat in front of Jake seems oddly comfortable. Naturally confident. Surprisingly at ease, given that his boss- and his boss’s son- have just been murdered.

“We appreciate it. This shouldn’t take too long- we’re just looking over everyone we’ve already spoken to,” Jake explains, in his super-manly-and-professional-detective voice. Secretly, this voice is one of his favourite parts of his job.

“No problem. Ask away.”

Daniel Clarke may just be the most charismatic man Jake’s ever met. He’s sat opposite a cop in an interview room, and he seems as appropriately at ease as a reasonable man could be in this situation. Of course, there’s an anguished seriousness behind those impossibly blue eyes, but he’s friendly, self-assured, and instantly likable. Makes sense- he seems exactly the kind of person someone as busy and powerful as Kristoff would want to hire.

“You said last time we spoke to you that you were almost constantly in the house, working with Kristoff.”

Daniel nods, completely focused on Jake.

“What was that like, being in his home so often, rather than an office?”

“I mean,” Daniel begins, pausing to think for a moment. “I was between the house and the offices. 70/30, really. It wasn’t too intense. But when it was just Kristoff and I in the house, things definitely felt… quiet.”

“Were you ever brought into family matters?”

“Never,” Daniel replies quickly. “I drove Angelica to therapy once or twice, but that’s it. It wasn’t the _closest_ family environment, if y’know what I mean.”

“Angelica was in therapy?”

“Is,” Daniel corrects him. “I probably shouldn’t even be saying anything.”

“Why?”

Daniel sighs, an uncomfortable look on his face, as if realising he’s dug himself a hole.

“It’s pretty hush-hush. Emilia doesn’t want it getting out. Angelica’s had some problems with alcohol and drugs over the last couple years.”

“Didn’t she graduate high school early?”

“I’d imagine that’s thanks to the Adderall.”

“I see,” Jake replies solemnly, slightly discomfited by Daniel’s smooth reply. Angelica’s just a kid, with god knows what kind of pressures going on in her life. “From what you’re telling me, you sound like a pretty integral part of this life.”

“Eh,” Daniel brushes this off, “Kristoff was a self-made millionaire. I was just a pair of helping hands.”

Jake smiles politely at his modesty.

“Did Oliver have much involvement in the company?”

Daniel grimaces.

“Kristoff and his son weren’t on the best of terms. When Oliver was at MIT, Kristoff offered him work in the… online presence of the company, if you will, since he was studying computer science. He turned it down.”

Jake nods, but finds it hard not to feel a little frustrated. He’s hearing the same thing over and over, from everyone he interviews- Kristoff and Oliver had little to no relationship, both were closed-off moody men, et cetera, et cetera. There’s a missing link in something, or _someone_ , that’s supposed to be coming after this family.

“Is there _anyone_ you can think of that’d want to hurt the Clare family?”

“You’ve asked me that before.” Daniel smiles wryly.

“Better safe than sorry, I guess.”

“Well, there’s plenty,” Daniel half-laughs, “but none that’d want to _kill_ them. Business is cut-throat, but Kristoff was virtually untouchable.”

“Or so it seemed.”

“Exactly.”

“If you don’t mind,” Jake continues cautiously, “could you take me back to the night Kristoff was killed? You said you were called back to the estate in the evening. Was there anything unusual about that?”

“Oh. Sure,” Daniel agrees, clearing his throat. “I was on a date, as you know, and I got a text from Kristoff asking me to come back to the estate urgently. I have no idea what it was for. Not that it mattered in the end, obviously.”

Except it _did_ , Jake thinks- Kristoff might have known he was going to be hurt.

“Honestly, I didn’t think much of it. I don’t get much time off, and when I do it’s not exactly unusual to be called back in. I was essentially Kristoff’s bitch,” he half-laughs.

“Huh.” Jake flicks back and forth through the file Amy’s given him on Daniel. It’s only a couple of pages- his details, original alibi, that kind of stuff. But there’s no record of a text. “Would you be able to show me the text from Kristoff?”

Fleetingly, Daniel looks a little panicked.

“Uh, yeah-”

“Don’t worry, it’s just so we have a full collection of evidence. We need everything possible to make sure whoever did this is punished. We’ll take it on the way out.”

“Sure,” he agrees.

“Great. That’s all we really need from you today.”

“Sure.” Daniel repeats himself.

Once the interview’s been tied up and the screenshots have been collected as evidence, there’s very little for Jake to do except head back up to the office. Truthfully, Amy’s taken over the bulk of the work, barely uttering a word unless it’s to do with the case- he had to convince her to let him take the interview with Daniel just so he had something to _do_.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t worried about her.

The worst part is, he suspects it has something to do with him; since the night he received that text from the woman he met at the bar, she’s been… _off_. Not angry. Not cold. Just not quite Amy. If he thought she was intense about work before, he’s certainly coming to change his mind now. He wants to sit her down and tell her it was nothing, but he can barely get a word in edgeways if she’s talking to him at all.

When he reaches the office she’s leaning on one of her hands, hunched over a pile of papers so wide they’re almost falling off her desk. For the life of him he can’t even figure out what she’s looking at- but he daren’t disturb her. She doesn’t look up when he sits down at his desk, opposite her.

“I didn’t have much luck with Daniel,” he confesses, after at least a full minute of silence since he’s entered the room.

“Damn.” Amy glances up quickly to offer this one-word response, shooting him a brief, pitying look.

“Did get something new, though. I don’t know how helpful it really is.”

“What?” She doesn’t look up.

“Angelica’s in therapy.”

“Oh, I knew that. I thought I sent it to you last night.”

“No. What’ve you got there?” Jake asks after a pause lasting exactly the amount of time he feels makes it clear she’s not looking to further the conversation herself.

“Family records,” she replies absently.

“We’ve looked over those a hundred times,” he says reluctantly, conscious that this is neither helpful nor positive.

“I’m aware. I was hoping the hundred-and-first time would bring up something we haven’t seen yet.”

This time she doesn’t look at him when she says it, and now he’s sure she’s pissed off with him. He can’t be in the office while it’s like this, he decides, pulling on his jacket.

“I’m gonna get some coffee, maybe some lunch. Want anything?”

 Staying away, for now, seems the best option; knowing the way their relationship is swinging back and forth right now, the icy reception could very easily be hot sex within the next twelve hours. Regardless, that vague sense of unease, of guilt, remains. They need to talk, he thinks, observing her as she twiddles a pen over her lower lip in concentration- but not right now. 

“I’m good, thanks.”

He nods, instead of forcing a reply, and heads for the door.

But a loud, distinct iPhone’s _ping!_ stops him in his tracks- for a moment, he thinks he might have left his phone on his desk, seeing as his is the only one that ever has the ringer switched on. But the noise has come from the corner, where Amy’s phone is charging on top of a filing cabinet. He’s not sure what makes him reach for it- perhaps the inviting look of curiosity that’s peeled her gaze away from her work and towards the phone.

“Who is it? Only VIP contacts have a ringtone,” Amy explains curiously, a touch of concern in her voice.

Jake can’t reply. His eyes have already found the screen, and he’s not sure he can look away. He can’t bring himself to mentally process the block of a message, only catching real buzzwords like _miss you_ and _touch_ and _fuck_ and _come back_ and _what we had_. Perhaps he’d be able to read this message if it weren’t for the name above it.

“Jake? Who is it?”

“It’s Teddy.” He’s almost embarrassed at how obviously thick his voice sounds when he says this. He couldn’t be more obviously affected.

“What?!” Amy springs up out of her chair and towards him, but she needn’t bother; Jake’s already holding out her phone towards her.

“So, when did _that_ start again?” Jake forces these words through a laugh. It threatens to choke him.

“It didn’t.” She replies indignantly, staring wide-eyed at her lockscreen. “God, this is intense.”

“He really misses you.”

“Or he’s just horny. That’s a little embarrassing,” Amy grimaces, stepping past Jake as she clicks her phone shut and plugs the charger back in.

Jake can’t quite believe how easily she’s brushing over this. Amy’s about as likely to send a message that overtly sexual as she is to skip laundry day- so he’s a little surprised, to say the least, that receiving one hasn’t completely disgusted her. On the other hand is the fact that they’ve slept together several times now, not to mention the underlying romantic weirdness still lingering between them. Some part of him, however, small, feels _owed_ an explanation.

“What’re you gonna say back?” He asks bluntly, maybe a little too late, since Amy’s already settled back into her reading.

“I…” She looks at him strangely. “I don’t know. I honestly wasn’t planning on texting back at all.”

“We both know you’re too polite to _not_ text back.” Jake forces a smile. “C’mon, what’re you going to say?”

Amy smiles back, but it seems slightly pained- her eyes narrow and her lips part into an uncomfortable position, like she’s trying to read him on the spot.

“Jake, why do you care?”

There’s something sad in her eyes. He wonders if that’s because she pities him, or because she already regrets asking that question.

“Are you-” Jake has to steady himself for a moment, feeling that anger at their situation rise again. Every time they reach a solution they hit another wall, and it’s driving him insane. “Are you kidding me, Amy?”

She just raises her eyebrows at him, staring up at him with dark, sad eyes.

“We both have feelings for eachother. We’ve been sleeping together on and off for weeks, staying in eachother’s apartments, and I _like_ you, Amy- _obviously_ a message like that is gonna make me feel like crap.”

She doesn’t reply this time, just watching him. Her expression becomes more concentrated, upset transforming into red cheeks and angry eyes and ever so slightly glistening eyes.

“I mean, you just said yourself he’s a VIP contact, or whatever,” Jake continues, unable to stop the words falling out of his mouth. He can hear himself being bitter, petty, maybe even straight-up childish, but it’s been days of virtually no communication and he can feel it all spilling out in one go. “Why? Have you been talking to him?”

Amy sighs. Her eyes find another point in the room and seem to stay there for a second, before she’s back on her feet again moving over to her phone.

“First of all, Jake-” she says calmly, taking her phone down from where it’s charging- “he’s a VIP contact because he used to be my boyfriend. I guess I never turned it off. It’s the first message he’s sent in months, as you can see,” she says, holding up the screen displaying their conversation to Jake’s face, “and secondly, I think it’s pretty _rich_ that you’re this mad.”

Instantly, the penny drops-

“You _did_ see that text!” Jake almost laughs, incredulous. “I knew it.”

“You knew?!” Amy laughs exasperatedly. “Oh my _god_ -”

“- I knew it. You’ve been acting weird all week!”

“I’ve been busy.”

“No, you’ve been bitter. I wish you’d have said something-”

“If you knew, you should have said something to me!” Her eyes burn into him. “I had _just_ slept with you, I didn’t want to mess things up by bringing up something that was probably nothing.”

“That-” Jake finds himself replying too quickly, and slows himself down. “That… makes sense. _I_ didn’t want to bring it up _because_ it’s nothing, so… y’know…”

“If I hadn’t seen it then you’d be bringing it up for no reason at all. Right,” Amy agrees, an understanding exasperation clouding over her expression. “What was the text even about, anyway?”

“She’s this girl I met in a bar a few weeks ago. We talked, she invited me to sit with her friends, nothing happened.”

“Except for the taking her number part?”

“Yeah,” Jake admits. “I wasn’t in a great place, it was a couple days after we agreed not to sleep together again. I didn’t want to do anything with her. She knew that, I guess, but asked for my number. I never even got hers.”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to explain. We’re adults,” Amy responds, mostly unconvincingly.

There’s a moment of quiet as they look at each other.

“I’m sorry for not talking to you,” Amy’s voice is quiet. “It’s difficult, sometimes… we’re both so exhausted and stressed that we can’t really date right now, but I do care about you.”

“I care about you too,” Jake says softly. “Sorry for being such a baby.”

Amy smiles, a little amused.

“It’s okay.”

“I was just jealous. I shouldn’t have acted like that.”

“… jealous?”

Amy’s got a kind of smirk on her lips. She draws her hand to her mouth, like she’s trying to stop herself.

“What? Are you laughing?” Jake smiles as he watches her.

“No! I just,” she sighs, leaning against her desk. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

Jake laughs.

“Amy, I’ve been jealous of everyone you’ve dated for a solid year and a half.”

She beams.

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious.”

For a moment they just smile at eachother, and Jake feels awake for the first time all week.

“For the record,” she adds- “I was mentally planning what I’d do if I ever met her. Y’know, if you two were dating.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mm. It mostly included alcohol and a lot of side-eye.”

“Huh. Amy Santiago likes me enough that she’d be deliberately impolite to somebody.”

She shrugs, smiling, watching him as he makes his excuses about getting their lunch from that place they both love down the street. Jake will admit it’s tiring: they’re between not talking at all, flirting, and having sex in a matter of a week. But having her look at him like that makes him feel like he’s in the room with his first crush all over again. When it’s good, it’s _so_ good.

He couldn’t get over her in a thousand years.

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

 

Amy shivers a little in the cold of the night. She’s stood outside her apartment complex holding a cardboard box filled to the brim with an assortment of total junk. It needs to go. Call this spring-cleaning.  

Unfortunately, Teddy is late.

Her eyes search the roads around her building, looking for his car. Nerves bubble within her. The relationship’s long dead, but after that text today she’s slightly worried about the kind of conversation he might try and start while he’s here. In her head she rehearses the lines she’s constructed to make this situation go by as swiftly as possible- _it_ _’s what_ _’s best for both of us_ , _please don_ _’t contact me again_ , and the real kicker: _I_ _’m seeing someone else._

The words sound as strange in her mouth as they do in her head. Whatever it is that’s going on between her and Jake, it’s far from easy to define. As far as Amy can tell, they’re hanging in the balance somewhere between friends and lovers, and the mess of the case is limiting the communication they’re able to share. On top of that, they’re both perpetually tired, stressed, angry, and, apparently, still dealing with other people.

They’re not boyfriend and girlfriend. At the rate things are going, Amy can’t help but wonder if they’ll even make it that far- if the work becomes any more strenuous there’s a very real chance they’ll end up killing each other. Objectively, she knows they were stupid for hooking up in the first place. If they’d have waited until everything had blown over, maybe instead of all the complicated emotions currently on their side, it’d still just be a case of moderate sexual tension and teasing. There wouldn’t be entire days or weeks going by where she didn’t feel like they were friends anymore.

If they want to move forward they need to be ready as soon as it comes. And this, standing out here in the dark waiting for Teddy to come by and collect the very last of his things, is part of it. She wants to be prepared for him.

Eventually, the car she’s been waiting for comes around the corner and stops in front of her building.

Amy comes down the steps and moves towards the vehicle, which is when he opens his door. His face is steely, almost angry, the pained face of a man holding back his feelings. Some part of her senses that she’s about to hear about these feelings. In detail.

“Oh, no, it’s okay-” she stammers, in a futile attempt to stop him from leaving the car. “You don’t have to get out. I can just put these in the back.”

“We need to talk,” he says quickly. “Please.”

“Teddy.” She holds out the box, in some part just to create a necessary distance between them. “We’ve been broken up for four months. I think everything that needs to be said has been said. I’m sorry.”

“I can’t let you walk away.” He shakes his head as he says this. There’s real desperation in his eyes, Amy thinks, feeling a little guilty. “I’ve been thinking about you every single day.”

“Teddy-”

“Do you know what you mean to me, Amy?”

“I have an idea,” she mutters weakly. She’s used to this flair for the dramatic.

“You’re my future. I can’t picture my life without you in it. I’ll do whatever it takes to change, I’ll make it _better_ than it was before-”

“You weren’t the problem, Teddy.” She breathes. “I mean… you weren’t _not_ the problem, but I had my own issues to work through. I still do. And I’m super busy, I’m on the Clare case-”

“Which I’m _so_ proud of, Ames-”

“- and I have feelings for somebody else.”

This stops him in his tracks.

“Who?”

“That’s not important-”

“- Amy, if this is actually goodbye…”

“It was goodbye four and a half months ago. This is me giving you your stuff back.” She looks down at the box in her hands. “Which you still haven’t taken out of my hands, by the way.”

“I have to kiss you one last time.”

Before she’s really got a chance to do anything, he’s pressing his lips against hers. Her eyes are wide open, and her first instinct is to push him off her. Unfortunately, her hands are a little full.

“Mm!” She objects against his mouth.

He pulls away, a sullen look on his face.

“You know where to find me,” he says sulkily, taking the box from her and pushing it into the passenger seat of his car.

“Sure.”

Part of her feels bad for being blunt. The other part feels like a chapter has been legitimately closed, and room’s been made for Jake. That part feels a hell of a lot better than the other one.

She stands and watches as his car pulls away from her building, her eyes following it until he’s out of sight.

The absence is a wonderful thing, if not just relaxing.

Right until she sees Jake standing across the street, looking at her with the most pain in his eyes she’s ever seen.

Maybe the exhaustion makes her feel worse, but she could swear things are coming crumbling down. Her stomach churns the second she sees him, plastic bag in hand- oh _god_ , he brought takeout- and pure confusion in his eyes. She’s running across the street, not looking twice for traffic. She needs to explain-

“Jake-”

His name is leaving her lips over and over, because he’s walking away-

“It’s not what it looks like-” He’s not stopping. “ _Jake!_ ”

 He stops and turns to her. His face is eerily… blank. He just seems tired, she thinks, and she doesn’t blame him. It’s a misunderstanding, and she can fix it-

“I’m tired. I need to go home.”

“Are you gonna let me explain?” She can’t help it. She’s angry. It’s one catastrophe after another right now, and after the last ten minutes, she could really use just one of the men in her life listening to her.

“Amy… I don’t think you’re a liar.” He looks at her funnily, like he can’t find the right thing to say.

She tries to find the words to reply, but she can’t. What’s she supposed to say to that?

“So?” Is all she manages.

“I can’t deal with this. One second you’re not talking to me, the next we’re sleeping together…the next your ex-boyfriend is kissing you outside your apartment.”

“That’s not _fair_. I was giving him his stuff back.”

“I know. But I got so upset, in the moment, watching it, and I just... I don't know. I think you were right. About timing. This entire… attempt, at whatever our relationship is, has been a mess. I miss my friend. I love you, Amy” he says, like it’s nothing, and Amy’s heart drops- “but I miss things being simple.”

No matter who’s wrong or right, in any of this, the worst thing which Amy has to admit to herself is that she misses him too. Everything made sense, and now it’s in tatters. Every time they come close to fixing it, things only become worse. Her heart is swollen, a painful beating in the middle of her chest. He looks so sad, and it’s her fault.

“I miss it too.” Her voice is hoarse; talking hurts the lump in her throat, which is what makes her realise she might be about to cry.

“I want this,” he continues, his voice low, “but I want it in the right way.”

“And the right way isn't right now,” she says, finishing the thought for him. 

They watch eachother wordless 

And to think only minutes ago she was forcing herself not to mock Teddy for being overdramatic. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too.”

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

The next day is hell.

There’s word around the office that things aren’t moving quick enough, and the case is being considered for the FBI instead.

Amy can’t let it happen. She’s come too far, had too much credit stolen for her work, had almost her entire relationship with Jake destroyed. She needs a lead and she needs one now.

Of course, being able to find something without wildly damaging mental strain coming first would be far too easy, so when 7pm comes and they’ve made no progress other than reinvestigating Julian, Emilia, Angelica, and Oliver for the millionth time, as well as double-checking Daniel and Greta, Amy feels like she could just about sink into the ground.

“Alright, ding-dongs.”

Yes. She’s ready now. If the ground would like to open up, now would be the _perfect_ time.

“Keith,” Jake responds monotonously. Pembroke grimaces at the use of his first name. Amy enjoys it for approximately .1 second.

“You’ll have heard about the FBI coming in to scoop up our case.”

“It’s happening?!” Amy can hear how panicked she sounds. She doesn’t care.

“Not yet. We’ve got until Sunday.”

“For what?” Jake asks. “Are we talkin’ Solve The Entire Case, or just some evidence, or what?”

“This may sound unfamiliar to the two of you, since you’re capable of finding one about once a month, but we need a _lead_ ,” Pembroke widens his eyes, clearly irritated. “This is getting embarrassing.”

“I’d say it’d be great if we had your help, but that’s obviously a lie.”

“Pleasure as always,” he replies, ignoring Jake’s comment, and like that he’s gone.

“I wonder what he does during the day.” Amy says sadly once he’s gone. “He’s getting paid to be a jackass.”

“So was I, until I got put on this case,” Jake jokes resentfully.

Amy smiles weakly. The night before still lingers in the air. Over and over and over in her head she hears him telling her he loves her, but it doesn’t matter. Neither of them seem quite sure where they stand.

“Do you want to work tonight?” She offers, although she’d enjoy virtually anything except this. It’s a peace offering.

“I’m actually grabbing a drink with Boyle.”

“That sounds nice.”

“You’re welcome to join, if you want-”

“No, no,” Amy insists. “I’m okay. I think I’m gonna stay here for a little while.”

“Are you sure? You’ve barely slept.”

There is no plausible explanation as to how he might know this. And yet he’s completely right. Must mean the bags under her eyes are more telling of the hours she spent awake after their exchange last night than she thought.

“Now I’ve got a deadline there’s no way I’ll be able to relax at home.”

Jake nods knowingly as slings his bag over his shoulder.

“Makes sense. I’ll see you in the morning.”

In her quiet, dim corner of the office, she watches him leave. Eventually, the sound of his steps disappears and she’s left only with the soft whirring of the heater in the corner of the room. Alone.

_Keep going, Amy._

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

“I’m sorry, buddy. Sounds like you’re going through a lot. I just wish you’d have told me sooner"” 

Charles looks at his best friend earnestly, patting him on the back, causing a small prang of guilt in Jake’s system. He wishes he’d told him sooner, too.

“I’ve missed you, bud.”

“It’s not the same at the precinct. Those two empty desks are heartbreaking. Now I really understand how Marius felt when he sang Empty Chairs at Empty Tables.”

“The awful, heart-breaking story of all his friends dying at the barricade wasn’t explanatory enough?” Jake asks. Charles shrugs.

“I still can’t believe you never told me you and Amy hooked up!” Charles grins. Jake gives him a pointed look. “I _know_ , I know. Your relationship has become chaos as a result. But still! It’s the romance I’ve always dreamt of.”

“And you can’t tell anyone.”

“Not even Genevieve?”

That reply was too quick.

“You’ve already texted her about it under the table, haven’t you?”

“We share everything, Jake! My excitement is her excitement, quite _literally_ -”

“Yes! Yes, you can tell Genevieve anything you want, as long as you stop talking right now.”

“Fine.”

"How're the others?"

Charles stops to think.

"Gina's exactly the same. Word has it she met someone, but obviously she won't tell us who."

"Sounds just like her."

"Rosa body-tackled a perp the other day, right in the middle of the precinct. I filmed it for you."

"Oh, man, you did?!" Jake feels a surge of love for his best friend. "Show me!"

"Sure! Oh," Charles opens his phone, dismayed. "I filmed it with the front-facing camera."

Sure enough, the video he brings up is a solid forty seconds of pure shock filtering in and out of his face. Jake's convinced it may be better than any other video he's ever seen. 

For the first time this evening, there’s a pause in their conversation.

“I told Amy I loved her last night.”

The words sound strange out loud, real. Now he's told Charles, last night's incident exists outside of the bubble that is the case. The bubble where it's only he and Amy that exist. 

Charles’s face lights up with glee.

“ ** _WHAT?!_** ”

“I didn’t even… I didn’t mean it like _that_ , y’know?”

“No, I _don_ _’t_ know. Continue. Explain,” Charles stares at him, continuing to sip at the straw of his diet coke like a teenage girl being fed the hottest gossip she’s ever heard.

The fact of it is that he’s scared. He always loves too quickly and too hard and, if he’s being honest with himself, he’s been doomed for since the day he met her. He’s surprised he lasted this long before letting the words spill- it’s just a shame they’re not actually _in_ a relationship, or even really sure of what they are at all. Great timing, Jake.

“I try not to say it, usually, when I’m in a relationship.” He sighs. “I realised pretty quickly that I was normally saying it too soon.”

“Adorable. You’re the king of love itself,” Charles gushes, pressing a hand against his chest. Jake shoots him a stern look. “Sorry. Continue.”

“With Amy it _is_ romantic, but it’s more like… I care about her like family. I have… loving _feelings_ for her. It’s not the same as being _in love_ with her.”

“Sure.” Charles rolls his eyes.

Jake glances at his phone, tipsy and finding his own words are confusing him. It’s almost midnight.

“I bet Amy’s still in the office.”

“She stayed behind?”

“Yeah. She’s putting herself under crazy pressure.”

He wonders if she’s achieved anything. If the office is as painfully quiet as he imagines it to be. If, god forbid, she’s fallen asleep at her desk.

 “Hey, I’ve only had one drink. I’ll drive you back to the office.”

“What?” Jake looks at Charles oddly. “Why would you do that?”

“Because all you’ve talked about all evening is Amy, and you just casually told me that she’s alone at work late at night, then wistfully gazed off into space for a solid ten seconds.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to. C’mon.”

And like that, Charles is leading him outside and into the car, and he’s on his way back. The journey, under the lights of the city, makes Jake realise just how tired he is. They’re a while from home- they’ll have to come all the way from the offices back to Brooklyn. Poor Amy’s not even had a break.

The offices are eerie. Half the lights are off, and the entire place is silent.

When he enters their office, he’s actually relatively relieved to see Amy passed out at her desk. Something about the office is telling him he would have found it even creepier if she was able to work in an environment like this.

“Ames?” He knocks gently on the door, standing in its frame. He doesn’t want to alarm her.

She stirs for a moment, her breathing becoming momentarily stronger, out of pace.

“Ames, wake up.”

After a moment she lifts her head, slowly at first.

“What time is it?” You can hear the exhaustion in her voice, now reduced to a croak.

“Gone midnight. C’mon, we’ll get a cab.”

“I’ll just sleep here,” Amy murmurs, but he knows she doesn’t really mean it. She might be obsessive over her work, but she hates not having a fresh pantsuit in the morning, and he knows for a fact she’s used the spare clothes she’s been keeping here. “I’ve made progress.”

“Nope. C’mon. You can tell me all about it on the way back. Or even _sleep_.” He’s closer now, shaking gently at her arm.

She lifts her head, looking up at him with dark, slightly reddened eyes, half-asleep. She looks beautiful, even with the small patch of hair she’s been leaning on which is now an upwards-facing scruff of bed hair. Desk hair, if you will.

“Fine. Better be a comfy-ass cab.”

He laughs lowly at this, only too aware of how ready she is to pass out.  It’d be irresponsible to send her home by herself- not because she couldn’t handle herself, not in any scenario, Jake thinks- but purely because she deserves a nap.

Luckily, it doesn’t take too long to get a taxi. Admittedly, at first, the driver seems a little wary of what Jake can only assume from an outsider’s perspective appears to be a vulnerable woman passed out in the arms of a man trying to take her home.

The drive back to hers feels like a decade. Jake doesn’t mind. He savours each second, especially when she passes out on his shoulder. The radio is playing softly in the front of the car, some late-night dance station. She’s warm against him, and occasionally the scent of her hair floats upwards. He can’t get over how beautiful she looks, and so he spends the journey memorizing each detail of her face. Freckles, eyelashes, eyebrows, the cupid’s bow of her lips.

He’s beyond exhaustion. After last night’s exchange he _obviously_ couldn’t sleep, and the worst part is that he knows it’s his fault. If he’d just been understanding maybe they could have talked it through again. But, frankly, he doesn’t regret saying the things he did. He cares about her, maybe more than anything, but while the last two months have been exciting, scary, and new, they’ve also been some of the most stressful he’s ever known. He wants her, but not with the way things are right now. She deserves better than him in this state.

She hums against his chest, and, for some reason, this is the moment at which he realises he's never,  _ever_ , felt like this about somebody. She amazes him, in every possible way, but on top of all of this, she frightens him. Amy is everything he could possibly want or need and he doesn't have the room to mess a single thing up. Maybe he already has.

Miraculously, Jake succeeds in staying awake until they reach her apartment. He can’t help but feel a little guilty as he wakes her, talking softly to her until she stirs again.

Amy doesn’t let go of him as they walk up the steps into her building, or even when they’re in the elevator on the way up. She’s not clinging, not by any means- rather, he keeps an arm over her shoulder, and, gently, she holds up her hand so she can hold his. It’s intimate, obviously, and all Jake can think of is helping her into bed and climbing in next to her, falling asleep beside her. But there’s an understanding between them, and he knows it as well as she does. If he kisses her now, he makes everything awkward and weird again for a couple of days.

Maybe this is the perfect balance, he thinks. Just being able to hold each other, let the other know they’re there. No talking. No sex. No complications. Just caring for each other when it matters the most. Maybe.

“Stay here. The blanket’s already on the couch,” she says firmly once they’re inside. He knows there’s no point in arguing, especially since it’s nearing 2 in the morning, and more practically speaking he lives a solid 15 minutes away and right now he feels like he could pass out on the spot. “I’ll get you a pillow,” she adds, wandering off towards her bedroom.

After a minute she reappears in the living area with one of her pillows, throwing it onto the couch.

“Night, Jake.”

She stands in front of him for a second, smiling tiredly, but then, out of nowhere, he finds himself being pulled into a hug. Her arms are thrown around his neck, and for a moment she’s just breathing into him. Jake takes this as permission to do the same, pulling her in, closing his eyes against the top of her head as the fatigue threatens to take him to sleep a few minutes too early. He could swear she fits into him, against him, perfectly. She's made to be there. Hours of work haven't affected the softness of her skin, or the gentle waft of her perfume, and for a moment he wishes he could fall asleep here, in her arms. 

The words she says next, muffled against his chest, are little more than a whisper; if he’d been even breathing a little louder he might have missed them. Missed her. But it’s certain, and even when she pulls away and ambles slowly away to her bedroom, it echoes throughout the room. Throughout the city. The most spectacular four words Jake’s ever heard.

“I love you too.”

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

For the first time in a long time, Jake’s woken up by the feeling of sunlight on his face.

Just for a second, he panics- there’s no way he should be awake late enough that the sun is coming through the windows. He jolts awake, forcing his eyes open, already fearing the lecture he’ll receive from Amy when he arrives at the office. Instead, he finds himself on her couch.

Last night comes back all at once- bringing her home from the office, spending the very last of his cash on that cab, hearing her tell him she loves him.

Hearing her tell him she loves him.

As if by magic, the sunlight warming his skin feels like nothing in comparison to the feeling rushing under his skin. She said it back. _Amy_ said it back. He’s wanted to hear those words for so long.

For the first time since this case started, their relationship feels somewhat… peaceful. He savours it- if the last eight weeks are anything to go by, they’ll have either had sex or broken into another argument by the early afternoon, so it’s probably worth enjoying the calm while it lasts.

The pale orange light filling the apartment is the first departure from winter Jake’s known in months. The harshness of darkness and cold only ever become obvious once things lighten up, though, he thinks. There’s something indescribably comforting about waking up in Amy’s apartment with the sun.

Down the hall he hears her footsteps. Sitting up, he realises she hasn’t turned on the coffee machine yet- otherwise it’d be whirring in that odd way he doesn’t like- and decides to make some for the both of them. As he ambles into her kitchenette he wonders if there’s anything he could cook, or even if she’s got some bread to toast. Better yet- a pop-tart to toast.

The cupboards are agonizingly empty, and her fridge is a disaster, save for a couple of takeout boxes stacked together on the middle shelf. With her level of organisation, the state of her kitchen seems practically impossible. But things haven’t been normal lately.

When the first cup of coffee is finished he replaces the cup on the stand and takes the first. He can’t find food, but he can bring Amy her coffee. It’s the minimum he should be offering her for letting him stay the night, and there’s no way in hell the bodega across the street is open yet, so there’s little to no chance of making her a decent meal.

The world seems slow, not quite awake, Jake thinks- exactly like him. His eyes are still a little heavy and he’s pretty sure his hair is sticking up in ten wrong directions, but he’s already thinking about saying good morning to her, asking whether she slept well and if she still feels the same as she did last night and if she, too, has woken up to find the world in technicolour.

He knocks on her door, but she’s already opening it, resulting in a mutual look of surprise.

Amy looks incredible. For a moment, Jake’s breath hitches in his throat, a surge of longing for her sinking and settling deep within him. She’s wearing her robe, a soft thing hanging over her body in a navy satin which perfectly complements the skin it leaves exposed. He’s not sure he’s ever seen it before; it feels intimate, a detail he’s been allowed in on by being here at this hour in the morning, by knowing she’s comfortable enough to wear anything around him. It’s when he catches himself focusing on the tendrils of hair escaping the low bun she’s scraped her hair into that he realises he’s staring.

“Oh- hey,” he stammers. “Morning. I got you a coffee.”

“Oh my god,” she groans, gratitude falling over her face. “You’re amazing.”

Her voice is a little hoarse, just a bit lower than usual- regularly Jake would take this voice as indication of a bad night’s sleep, but right now he’s only half-ashamed to admit to himself that it’s kind of turning him on.

“I’m honestly just proud I knew how to use the machine.”

Amy tilts her head, looking at him oddly. For a moment he thinks he sees a small smile flash over her face.

“You use it every time you’re here.”

She’s right, obviously, but quite frankly Jake’s struggling to speak, let alone make any sense. He was proud of that line about operating the coffee machine. Mildly self-deprecating humour, early morning humour- as far as he’s concerned he nailed it.

“Thank you,” she adds, smiling warmly. He wonders if the knowing look in her eyes is because she can tell he’s nervous as fuck or if it’s because she’s genuinely just pleased about the coffee. Quite honestly, he doesn’t care.

In the kitchen, the coffee machine pings happily. Jake’s espresso is finished.

“C’mon,” Amy says, still smiling, pushing past him into the hall. “We have a full forty-five minutes before we need to leave.”

“We’re living a life of luxury here,” Jake manages, not turning around for fear of how he’ll feel when he sees what she looks like from behind in that robe. He waits for five paces, then follows her.

Amy slides into a seat at her table, making the kind of noises while she sips at her coffee that’d make anyone think she’s been handed the nectar of the gods. For the sake of his own confidence, Jake tries not to let himself compare the faces she’s making as she drinks it with the faces she made the last time they slept together. This could be the first time in his life he’s been jealous of a cup of coffee.

“So.”

“So,” Jake replies, leaning against the counter nearest to her.

“Last night,” she says, pausing for another sip, “I think I may have found something.”

“Really?!”

“Don’t get excited,” she holds up her hand. “It could be nothing.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s not something. What is it?”

“Okay,” she starts, seriousness falling over her face. “Kristoff was married twice, right? Emilia was his second wife.”

Jake nods, aware that she’s got more to say and not wanting to interrupt.

“We know nothing about this first wife. Because nobody in the family has even mentioned her.”

“We’ve never even looked,” Jake affirms, which is when he starts to see the same gap Amy’s seeing.

“So… there’s potential. Nobody ever talks about her. What if she was still linked to Kristoff somehow?”

“Oh, I _love_ that.”

“I know, right?” She grins.

“Kristoff’s family life was a nightmare. If he was a dick to his first wife, too-”

“- She might want revenge. _Exactly_ what I was thinking,” she explains.

 “I kind of feel guilty for going to the bar with Charles while you were basically solving this case on your own,” Jake says apologetically. To his delight, this only resurrects the huge smile which was on Amy’s face a few minutes ago.

“Sometimes it’s best to leave the professionals to do their jobs,” she smiles tartly. He raises his eyebrows, which only makes her chuckle. “Kidding. Like I said, it might be nothing.”

“I bet it’s not.”

Amy smiles into her coffee.

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

“Emilia Clare is in your office waiting for you.”

After a relatively breezy, optimistic morning, Jake can say with some certainty that this is not what either of them were expecting to walk into when they arrived at the office this morning. They both look at each other, exchanging a strange look, before they’re hurrying down the hall towards Pembroke’s office, without a word in reply to the young administrator who broke the news.

Sure enough, Emilia’s stood in the main portion of the office, directly in front of Pembroke’s desk. The first thing Jake notices is the stiffness of her posture, the way she’s holding herself as if she’s having to hold back from starting a fight. Conveniently, Pembroke is nowhere to be seen. Makes sense- it’s a Friday morning, which means he’s likely attempting to pick up women at the gym. Correction: harassing women at the gym.

“Emilia, hi-”

Amy’s greeting is abruptly cut short the second Emilia sees the two of them, fire catching in her eyes.

“Don’t _hi_ me. You know I’m furious. Where’s Pembroke?”

“He’s…” Jake looks at Amy exasperatedly, as he tries to find a suitable excuse. “He’s out of the office this morning. How can we help?”

Emilia just stares at him, speechless, as if he’s just suggested jumping from the top of the building for fun.

“Are you seriously going to play dumb?” She asks after a moment.

“I’m sorry, Mrs Clare,” Amy offers, “but we don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Have either of you even opened your phones this morning? Twitter? Instagram?”

“We don’t… really…” Amy falters apologetically.

“Angelica’s in hospital.” Emilia finally gives in with a sigh, clearly at a loss. Her index finger and thumb go to the bridge of her nose in perhaps the only overt display of distress Jake’s ever seen from her. “It’s everywhere, obviously, and it’s because of information _you_ made public. For no good reason.”

“I don’t understand…” Jake finds himself thinking out loud. Obviously, Daniel had told him about Angelica being in therapy, but as far as Jake knows that information hasn’t been passed onto anyone not involved in the investigation. He, Pembroke, and Amy are essentially the only ones who should know.

He glances over at Amy, whose face has completely dropped- despite this, he can see she’s trying to hold herself back, remain professional. If he knows her at all then she’s having just as hard a time as him.

“Is she okay?” She asks quietly.

“She will be.” Emilia says simply.

“Who leaked it?” Jake interjects, sensing the flash of anger in Emilia’s voice.

“It was on Twitter, last night.” Emilia rolls her eyes as she opens her phone, “Some empty account- you know, an egg- put up a picture of one of Angie’s therapy records.”

She holds up her phone, and, sure enough, there’s a scan of one of Angelica’s medical records. Jake can’t help but notice that whoever’s put it up has taken the time to blur most of the sensitive information, leaving behind only the important stuff- feelings of hopelessness, difficulties with substance abuse, et cetera. Whoever did this didn’t want to get in serious trouble.

“Wait,” Amy interjects after a moment, concern in her voice. “So why’s Angelica in hospital?”

“She went on a total bender last night,” Emilia admits sadly, her voice lower now. “Had her stomach pumped. Alcohol poisoning. There are pictures all over the internet. She’s devastated.”

Jake’s heart sinks at the thought of it. It’s their responsibility to keep this information under wraps and now they’ve put somebody in danger by letting it slip through their fingers.

“Emilia, we will do everything we can to figure out who did this,” he tries to reassure her, unsure if it’s of any use at this stage.

“And have them fired immediately,” Amy adds. A tad overkill, Jake thinks, seeing as neither of them have anything even close to that kind of power, but the sentiment is sincere.

It takes a little while before Emilia has calmed down and left- by the time she’s gone, Jake and Amy have been in the office for over an hour, and made far too many promises they can’t necessarily keep.

“I just don’t get how this happened,” Amy laments for the fifth time in the last ten minutes. “I don’t get it.”

“I’m running the IP on the account that tweeted the document,” Jake says, indirectly attempting to make her feel better. “Should give us an idea.”

“It could be anyone, once the information’s out,” Amy replies dismissively. “God, y’know what would be really useful? If our _boss_ was here.”

“I miss Holt too.”

She pauses.

“I meant Pembroke.”

“Oh, right,” Jake realises. Obviously. “Wait.” He sits up.

“What?”

“The IP address.”

“What about it?”

Jake looks into Pembroke’s portion of the office. Still empty.

“It’s ours.”

Amy sighs.

“It was Pembroke.” Her voice is quiet, but sure.

“Why would he-”

“We both know,” Amy cuts in. “We’re losing momentum and if information like this gets leaked it makes it seem like the family’s hiding things from _us_ , not that we’re crappy detectives.”

Jake nods solemnly.

“He doesn’t want the FBI taking our case.”

They both pause for a second, the realisation of what’s been done, the position Angelica’s been put in, sinking in.

“We have until the end of the weekend, right?” Amy asks after a minute or so.

“Right.” Jake watches her, curious as to where she’s taking this.

“I think we have to do this alone.”

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

“You do realise you’re sharing confidential information with two detectives not assigned to your case, right?”

Rosa, ever monotonous, just raises her eyebrows at Amy.

“I know that,” Amy replies nervously. “Obviously.”

“Just wanted to make sure you weren’t freaking out too bad about breaking the rules,” Rosa shrugs, leaning back in her seat.

Jake takes a second to look at Amy. Rosa’s right, obviously- there’s panic rooted deep in Amy’s wide eyes, but she’s holding herself together remarkably well.

“We can’t do this under Pembroke’s surveillance anymore,” Jake affirms. Amy looks at him gratefully. “He’s making everything worse.”

“Tell us what you need us to do. We’ll help in _any_ way we can, Jakey,” Charles adds, pity in his voice.

Charles and Rosa were quick to agree to meet the two of them for lunch. Jake’s hardly surprised- they’ve had no real regular contact for a couple of months now, so an urgent call to meet them during their lunch break must have seemed pretty strange. After Amy had suggested progressing with the case under Major Crimes’ nose, they’d both agreed they’d need backup- investigating a high-stakes case alone is reckless. Doing it without any support is plain stupid.

“We think we may have a lead. But we need to follow it without anyone knowing,” Amy explains simply. Jake knows this stage of stress well- she’s forcing an air of practicality now, pushing her way through it. He’s nervous too, but he knows he cares ten times less about going behind Pembroke’s back. He resists the urge to reach under the table and hold her hand.

“We’re heading to the estate this afternoon to go through Kristoff’s office again. We’re looking for information about his first wife. She’s pretty much hidden herself away,” he explains, largely so Amy doesn’t have to.

“Don’t blame her,” Rosa mumbles.

“Yeah.” Amy says meekly, the realities of this family’s life hanging thick in the air. “Anyway. As long as you guys know where we are and what we’re doing, then we’re safe, right?”

“Guaranteed.” Rosa nods once, looking sincerely over at Amy. Charles nods too. Jake’s centre warms at their loyalty.

“Thank you, guys. And remember- you _can_ _’t_ tell Terry or Holt unless things go south,” Jake adds. “Neither of them would approve of us messing with protocol.”

“Oh god,” Amy groans at the mention of her superiors.

“Isn’t Gina gonna be pretty pissed she’s not involved?” Rosa asks casually.

“Actually, I kind of told her,” Jake confesses.

“You did _what_?” Amy’s voice raises slightly. She glares into him.

“Not _details_ ,” he backpedals, “just that we’re going incognito. She loves it.”

Amy rolls her eyes.

“Hey! Rosa said it herself, she’d be mad if I didn’t tell her!”

“She’s your friend, I get it. I just don’t want her to tell Holt.” Amy sighs, bringing her fourth coffee of the day to her lips.

A moment of quiet rests amongst them. Normally, Jake thinks, conversation would resume naturally, but they’ve had the natural catching up that comes with colleagues you see on a daily basis. Internally he tries to think of something to say. How’re Charles and Genevieve? Rosa and Marcus? At this stage, even a disgusting story about Scully and Hitchcock would feel homely.

Luckily, Rosa fills the silence.

“So,” she starts. She looks up, between Amy and Jake, and rare smile pulls at her lips. “Heard you two finally banged it out.”

Amy’s eyes widen in a look of sheepish confusion Jake might find amusing were it not for the disappointed look he’s throwing Charles, who shrugs apologetically.

“Sorry, guys. I got too excited!”

“First time in an elevator? Congratulations, you two.” Rosa grins. Jake’s heart drops. To his side he hears a small gasp leave Amy’s lips. “Scandalous.”

“Jake!”

“He’s my best friend!”

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

“Ida Cohen… Ida Cohen.”

Amy glances up from the box she’s sorting through and looks over at Daniel, who’s repeating the name of Kristoff’s first wife like he’s trying to memorise it.  

Between his fingers he holds the only picture they’ve found of this woman: a polaroid taken over thirty years ago.

While her and Jake dig through Kristoff’s office, looking for every and any piece of evidence that might tie him to his first wife, Daniel- acting quite contrarily to his former position as Kristoff’s assistant- is being absolutely no help.

She wonders if he’s ever had to be part of something this serious- she hopes not, for Kristoff’s sake. It’s hard not to think this kid is all bark and no bite- he can’t be older than late twenties, he’s good-looking, has been making ridiculous money for years under one of the most sought-after employers in the working world, and yet he can’t hold up under pressure for more than about ten seconds.

They’ve been here for almost an hour now, two if you include the drive- and to absolutely no avail. Unsurprisingly, there’s no evidence whatsoever of Kristoff’s first wife in the huge house

“I know it, I swear. I feel like I’ve seen it somewhere.” He looks around the room in hard concentration. “Did you try looking at his accounts?”

Amy sighs, perhaps a little too audibly to remain polite. Daniel shrugs, blushing a little, and guilt immediately seeps into her chest.

“Sorry. Kristoff’s bank records were the first thing we looked at,” she explains calmly.

“What did the rest of the family say?” Daniel keeps going, his voice a little nervous now, for the first time since Amy met him. “Wait, can I ask that?”

“Not really,” she says, “but it doesn’t matter anyway. We’ve got nothing.”

“Nobody wants anything to do with Ida,” Jake cuts in, almost under his breath- “Which only makes us want to see if she has any information even more.”

“Kristoff and Ida got married then divorced almost exactly three years later. Simple as that,” Amy groans. She puts the lid back on the box she’s been looking through. “This is useless.”

“Did they live here? In New York, I mean.” Daniel asks with an air of innocence.

“New Hampshire. We’re pretty sure she’s still there now.”

“Oh.” Daniel’s face changes into something Amy can’t quite pinpoint. She watches him for a moment.

“Why?”

“Nothing. It’s just that I noticed Angelica had a kind of fixation with this charity here. I feel like the owner’s name was Ida. Maybe Irene.”

Jake looks over at Amy, eyes narrowed.

“Why would Angelica want to reach out to her father’s ex-wife?” He asks simply.

Daniel shrugs, looking between the two detectives blankly.

“That’s for you to answer, right?” When a silence falls in the room he shifts a little awkwardly. “I’m gonna go grab a drink from outside. Can I get you guys a coffee?”

Amy nods politely.

“Thanks,” she says quietly, and like that he’s left the room.

“How’s he been so useful until now?” Jake says, a little too soon for Amy’s liking. She brings her gloved finger to her lips, silently shushing him.

“Maybe he’s just overwhelmed. We’ve kind of bombarded him,” she says quietly, opening another box.

There’s a short pause. Out of the corner of her eye Amy sees Jake’s brows knotted together in thought.

“I have this weird feeling about New Hampshire. Did we see something to do with New Hampshire?”

She thinks about it for a second, hard, but nothing comes to mind. Perhaps she’s just tired.

“Was it the accounts?”

“Maybe. It’s probably nothing,” he brushes it off, shaking his head. She watches him, concerned. Jake never throws off a hunch. “Kind of weird how much this dude stashed in here.”

He’s holding a box of what appears to be old memorabilia- from the other side of the office Amy can see a couple of loose photos, an old leaflet, and what may even be a receipt. It’s a strange sight- even now it’s difficult to picture Kristoff as a sentimental man. After all, all she’s experienced of him is his business persona, accounts of a mildly abusive relationship with his son, and his dead body. She’s not to blame if she finds it a little tough to picture him stashing away keepsakes in his office.

“Do you think he was in here often?” Amy wonders out loud.

For a second they both take in the real magnitude of the office. The only word that comes to mind, Amy thinks, is presidential; just sitting on other sides of the room, she and Jake almost need to raise their voices to hear each other. A thick, ornate carpet fills almost the entire floor. It’s probably worth a year of her rent. The desk sits in front of the floor-to-wall window overlooking the estate. There’s something eerie about the night sky and the pitch black of the gardens beneath the window being exposed to the room like that- for a second Amy has a strong urge to close the curtains.

“Who knows,” Jake says softly. “Don’t super rich people mostly have rooms like this so they can show it off?”

“That’s what I thought, until we found all this.”

Jake hums in agreement, then goes back to his box.

“Hey, check out Emilia’s old haircut. It’s so 2004 you’re going to lose your mind,” he grins, tossing a photo across the room.

Amy picks it up with a small smile and for the first time in a few days allows herself a moment of genuine amusement. Jake’s right- the pixie cut, low-rise jeans, and thin scarf Emilia’s sporting in this city candid is painfully reminiscent of the 2000s, and almost impossible to match with the elegant, appropriately-dressed woman who came to see them in the office this morning.

As if by magic, the small moment of relief disappears- picturing Emilia only reminds her of why they’re even here in the first place, and all she can picture is Angelica in hospital.

“Is it just me, or is Daniel taking extra-long with those coffees?” She breaks the silence, laughing awkwardly. Jake smiles knowingly, a sad look in his eyes, and for a moment she feels a little self-conscious, knowing he’s read exactly what she’s thinking just by looking at her. No words required.

“To be fair, he has to walk three miles to get back to the office from the coffee machine.” Jake mutters.

A giggle finds its way out of Amy’s chest.

Eventually Daniel’s footsteps are audible from the hallway.

“I forgot how you take it, so they’re both black. Is that okay?” He smiles apologetically.

“Perfect,” Amy smiles. “Thank you for your help this evening, Daniel. You didn’t have to come out all the way with us.”

No, really, she thinks- you didn’t. She watches him smile appreciatively and feels a little bad. He’s been almost entirely useless all night. They’d only even asked him to be here in case he knew where anything especially secret would be in the office, or the combination for any safes they might come across. That, and the fact that they’re currently sneaking around without telling their boss, so time has been of the essence. The fact of it all is that, until tonight, Daniel has known it all.

“How long are you guys going to keep trying in here?” Daniel asks. If it were anyone else Amy might find it a little condescending, but he sounds genuinely intrigued.

Amy shrugs, unable to provide an answer. They’ve ransacked every single box in this room.

“ _Oh!_ ”

Jake’s sudden outburst makes her jump.

“What is it?!”

“New Hampshire Institute of Art!” Jake shouts. “Remember?”

She shakes her head. For a moment she even looks at Daniel, but his expression is equally absent.

“The accounts. Every year Kristoff made a pretty sizeable ‘donation’ to the New Hampshire Institute of art,” Jake explains energetically, waving his hands around in air quotes, “but what if it wasn’t a donation?”

“Go on…”

“The polaroid-” He continues urgently, gesturing towards Daniel, who pulls it out of his pocket and hands it to him immediately. “Look at Ida’s dungarees.”

He holds the picture directly in front of Amy’s face.

“God, so 80s,” she mutters.

“Anything special about them?” Jake asks, eyes wide, his mouth already splaying into a grin.

“Wait, is that paint-”

“ _PAINT!_ She’s covered in paint!” Jake beams.

Amy grabs her phone from her pocket and immediately looks up the website for the New Hampshire Institute of Art, navigating the pages as quickly as possible in an attempt to find somebody in charge, a list of staff, until, sure enough-

“Ida Cohen! Exhibitions Director and Art Handler!” Amy jumps up, showing Jake her phone screen.

For a second they both stare at each other, and then at the phone, and then at each other again, in total disbelief. Jake beams, almost laughing. For a moment she forgets they’re not the only people in the room.

“What now?” Jake asks, as if snapping out of a trance.

Amy looks down at her phone. The website’s rolling slideshow flicks onto a new picture.

“Road trip.” Amy smiles.

“Right now?”

She checks the time. 7pm.

“If go now we can find her tomorrow morning.”

“We have no change of clothes,” he says, almost laughing.

“We’ll find some!”

She beams. Normally she’d never make a plan this last-minute, and he knows that, but this is a _lead_ , and they’ve only got two days to follow it through before the case is taken away from them, and even if it takes them nowhere it’s still something- and each of these thoughts must be showing on her face right now, because Jake seems like he wants in.  

“Okay,” he smiles. “Okay! Let’s go!”

“Okay!” She cringes at how childlike her voice sounds, but the feeling’s gone in under a second- for some reason, this feels like a spontaneous adventure, and not an integral part of her literal adult job.

Daniel clears his throat awkwardly in the corner of the room, before finally piping up.

“So… I guess I’ll just get an uber.”

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s been years since Amy’s driven on near-empty roads. Maybe she should be enjoying it, but all she can think about is how everything looks completely the same, it’s way too dark, and her grip on the steering wheel hasn’t shifted for enough time that one of her arms is starting to cramp up.

“Jake? How long left?”

Her voice is quieter, hoarser than she’d expected, which is when she realises she’s not spoken for a good hour. Maybe more.

“Jake,” she says, a little louder- but, glancing over at him, she realises that he’s fallen asleep.

His arms are folded over his chest, the sleeves of his button-down somewhat crinkled after a day’s wear. He’s leaning into the space between the top of his seat and the window, his head falling back into a position Amy only worries will hurt his neck. In the dark of the car her stomach flutters at the fleeting sight of his dark eyelashes and exposed neckline.

Eyes back on the road, she resolves not to disturb him.

All at once, seemingly out of nowhere, it sinks in. How much everything’s changed. How she can look over at him in the middle of the night and know exactly what the bare skin of his neck tastes like, and how his breathing will change once he _really_ falls asleep, and how he’ll sound first thing in the morning when it’s just him and her. Him, and her, and this interminable case.

Only the other night she told him she loved him. Her insides fizz nervously at the memory of it. Yesterday, Amy. It was yesterday. But it feels like last week. Things have been so intense that the days have melted into months; day-to-day life seems distant, unattainable. An ache rises in her chest at the thought of the precinct. She misses it more than anything.

On top of that, though, is that ugly guilt that’s sat within her this entire time. The feeling that she’s not done enough for Emilia or Angelica. For anyone, really. The aching in her chest blazes at the thought of Angelica in hospital. They’ve progressed, but not nearly enough, and for Angelica and Emilia it must feel like purgatory. Constantly waiting to find out what happened to half of their family.

Jake hums softly.

“I’m awake,” he almost whispers.

Amy glances over. His eyes are still closed, so she decides not to reply. If he wants to sleep, he should- god knows the two of them need it.

“Did you ask something? Before?” He asks sleepily.

“Don’t worry,” she smiles over. He’s still got his eyes shut.

“No, go on.”

She smiles to herself.

“I was just wondering how far we are.”

“Oh man,” he stirs, sitting up next to her. “I’ve failed in my role as designated Google Maps navigator.”

Out of the corner of her eye she sees his phone light up.

“You _were_ given the option to leave your unlocked phone on the dashboard, so I could see it.”

“And give you full access to my phone? Nice try.”

“Fair,” she laughs, envisaging the messages she could have sent to the group text-chain.

“We’re not far,” he reassures her. “Like, twenty minutes.”

“Twenty minutes? Shouldn’t I be coming off the freeway soon?” Amy feels herself begin to panic. “Did I miss the exit? Where’s the motel?”

“I didn’t search for a specific motel, I just had it taking us to the city centre,” he admits. “I’ll find one now.”

After he’s found a motel about five minutes back from their current location, and she’s given a minute-long, exhaustion-fuelled lecture on why they should have known exactly where they are going in the first place, they’re on their way. Luckily, Jake’s time estimate was near-perfect, and it takes exactly- he times it- five minutes to get there.

The place is eerily quiet. Miserably quiet, Amy thinks, like something’s not right. But it’s nearing midnight, so for tonight, it’s home.

Despite the feeling of the entrance, the motel is surprisingly… decent. Their room’s small, and the sheets look cheap, and there’s not much in the name of hospitality (see: the one towel, and single complimentary sachet of shampoo) but everything’s new- judging by the smell of paint, she’d guess it’s been newly renovated.

“I think I’ll shower,” she says quietly once they’re inside, dropping her bag on the bed. “Oh, want me to steam any of your clothes?”

“Steam?”

Jake, who’s already flopped face-first onto the bed, turns over and gives her an odd look.

“You don’t have a change of clothes,” she explains, thinking gratefully of the spare pantsuit she’s brought in from her car. “If I hang them in the bathroom while I shower, they’ll at least smell nice tomorrow. And they’ll be crinkle-free,” she adds, arguably with a tad too much excitement in her voice.

“Crinkle-free?!” Jake teases. “I’m sold.”

“Shut up.”

He stands up and starts unbuttoning his shirt, facing away from her as he pulls it off his shoulders. After a moment Amy realises she’s watching him. In silence.

“I’ll be in the bathroom,” she says quietly, smiling politely even though he’s not looking at her. “Just knock when you’re done.”

With the bathroom door closed behind her, Amy realises she’s been holding her breath.

There’s something about being around him, even in boring, little moments like this, that sets her alight. Sure, the constant-tiredness-plus-emotionally-intense-case thing isn’t doing her any favours, but the truth of it is evident whenever she’s alone and vulnerable with him.

With just enough room to move around, she begins to undress. It’s an odd layout for a bathroom- the toilet is wedged in next to the sink, which might not seem so cramped were it not for the massive counter in which the sink is set. On the other side of the room is the shower, and a tall towel rack, perfect for Amy’s steaming plan. She slings her blouse over the already-warm metal with satisfaction.

Slipping out of her clothes is sweet relief- she’s been wearing them for almost 18 hours now, and the air against her skin feels practically blissful. It’s the little things, she thinks, wondering how, as a woman in her thirties, her daily dose of happiness comes from standing half-naked in a motel bathroom.

Jake’s knock at the door jolts her out of her tired haze.

“Hi!”

Perhaps a tad _too_ enthusiastic, Ames, she thinks, her internal monologue somehow rolling its eyes at her.

He smirks amusedly at the greeting.

“Hi.”

For some reason, despite the fact he’s stood in front of her in his boxers, Amy feels incredibly bare. Oddly, it’s not often that they’re stood chatting in motel rooms in their underwear. Jake offers her a small pile of clothes.

“I tried to fold them.” He winces, looking at the oddly-folded stack of clothes in his hands.

“You didn’t need to do that, I’m just gonna hang them up.” Amy smiles, taking them from him.

She slings his clothes over the towel rack as slowly as she can, just to see if he’ll leave the doorway. He doesn’t. Her heart is pounding now, hard enough that she can feel it in her chest.

“Maybe I just wanted to show off my folding skills,” Jake offers, but he seems miles away from what he’s saying. He’s distracted, and, for the first time in her life, Amy’s sure that she’s the reason why.

She stands in front of him in the doorway.

It can’t be more than a few seconds that they stand there, motionless, staring into each other’s eyes, but it feels like a year. Every part of her is awake, and every part of her wants him. She loves him- that’s it, she thinks, she can say that now- and it’s the most perfect feeling in the whole world.

“Anyway,” Amy breaks the silence, smiling tartly. “I need to shower.”

“Oh, right-” Jake agrees, raising his eyebrows as he snaps out of it, blushing slightly.

Amy laughs, cutting him off.

“I’m _kidding_ ,” she giggles, lifting herself up onto her toes and pulling him into a kiss. He responds immediately, his hands slipping round her waist and pulling her into him.

“Tease.” He laughs against her lips.

Instantly, she’s back in paradise: hearing his voice this close to her again, hearing the want in his voice from just one word uttered into her ear. He’s all hers.

Jake’s grip firms around her, and as quickly as this all started she feels him guiding her to the sink, walking her backwards towards the counter. She follows his lead, lifting herself onto the counter with her hands so she’s sat in front of him.

“You’re so beautiful.”

He takes the moment just to look at her, and Amy’s never felt more exposed in her entire life. His eyes are dark, sincere, and she’s not sure she’s ever felt more wanted in her life. She has to stop herself from letting all the words in her head overflow at once; I want you, I love you, _you_ _’re_ beautiful- she doesn’t know where to start.

So instead, she kisses him softly, sweetly, wrapping her arms around his neck and hoping he knows somehow what it means to her. What _he_ means to her.

Time disappears while they’re here together; the outside world has vanished. There’s no case, there’s no Vulture, there’s nothing corrupt or stressful or pressured. There’s only him, and his tongue in her mouth, and his fingers on her skin, pinching at the clasp of her bra until it comes free.

He starts his way down her neck, trailing hot kisses along her jawline. His grip tightens around her waist while he sucks at a sweet spot over her chest- he’s learning, she realises, remembering the last time they were together and the reaction she’d let slip when he’d come across it. It seems impossible that someone so disorganised could be this good at multitasking, she thinks, sighing at the gentle stroking of her back and the hotness of his mouth on her neck.

“Jake-”

His name escapes her when his hand circles round to her front and dips under the hem of her underwear- just enough for the sensation to surprise her, have her melt just that little bit more.

It occurs to her in this moment that he’s pampering her, that she’s getting all the attention- and it’s perfect, but the urge to give back washes over her without thinking. Before she knows it she’s wrapping her legs around his hips and pulling him in closer, letting her hands run over his bare chest and up into his hair, pulling softly at the curls resting on the nape of his neck as he kisses her.

Languidly she allows her free hand to travel downwards, wasting no time with the teasing he’d demonstrated only a minute ago. Jake gasps into her mouth, a soft groan coming from the back of his throat that Amy tries painfully hard to savour. Having her fingers wrapped around him only makes her feel more powerful- he’s hot under her fingertips, and the more she moves the more he groans into her skin.

It’s your turn, she thinks, feeling him relax into her. She mimics the movements he was using, kissing her way from his neck to his chest, sucking hard over his collarbone. He groans, muttering her name under his breath, which only encourages her more- she lets herself bite softly at his skin. He gasps, his breath sinking into his chest. Internally, she wonders if she’s left a mark.

She tries to slip off the counter and back onto her feet so she can get down in front of him, but Jake seems to figure out what she’s trying to do before she manages it and keeps her upright, securing his hands around her waist again.

“No, you.” His hands go to her hips, thumbs slipping back under the hem of her underwear.

Truthfully, her mind is past the point of foreplay- she stops his hands with her own and pushes the last of her clothing off and around her knees. She looks at him, eyes flickering downwards and then back- his expression changes, as if surprised at how quickly she’s moving.

“You sure?”

“Mm,” she nods, kissing him softly. “You?”

“Yeah- yes,” he stammers, smiling bashfully.

“Good,” she hums, shifting herself forward and pulling him towards her.

Amy’s not tired anymore. She’s electrified, every millimetre of her on fire, and she’s entirely lost sight of everything and anything that isn’t Jake; her brain has been wiped clean, the only prevailing thought or action being the man in front of her. Nothing exists except the two of them.

She never wants to fall asleep and wake up to Ida and Kristoff and Emilia and Angelica and a city of eyes on her and Jake and their case. Every move she makes is in a bid to come closer to him, until it’s not physically possible anymore, pressed up against him so hard that even half an inch closer might cause his bones to snap under the pressure of her grip.

She never wants to know anything except the feeling of him moving in and around her. The scent of his skin. The taste of his lips. She’d rather live on the floor of this bathroom with only him, for the rest of her life, than have to go home.

Eventually all her thoughts switch off, until the only three words able to appear in her brain become stuck on repeat for the rest of the night.

 _Don_ _’t let go_.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

The first thing Jake notices when he wakes up is not the intimacy of the beautiful woman resting on his chest. Nor is it the warmth of the sun sifting into the room through the blinds. Even the blissful rested feeling he hasn’t felt in a good couple of weeks goes amiss.

Why?

His muscles hurt like hell.

In fact, the first noise he makes as he wakes up is a small, pained groan- Amy stirs on top of him, which pulls out of his sleep and into full consciousness again.

“Y’okay?”

She sounds so blissfully sleepy, asking him with the unenergetic concern of someone barely awake.

“Mm,” he offers. He doesn’t want to disturb her.

His body hasn’t hurt this much since one of his first, particularly awful workouts when he was at the Academy- not long after he met Rosa. It’s a sweet ache- all, presumably, from last night- but it’s unfamiliar. He’s not been physically worn out like this in a long time.

And yet, he thinks, slowly rubbing his hand over the plane of Amy’s shoulder, he’d do absolutely anything to repeat last night. Simply put, he’s never had sex that good in his entire life. A soft ache in his leg reminds him that he’s paying for it, but it’s the last thing on his mind. All he can do is wonder what he did to be rewarded with a night like that. And with someone like her, nonetheless.

“What time is it?” Her voice hums against his ribs.

“Uh,” he reaches over for his phone, “just gone nine.”

“Ugh,” Amy groans, shifting slightly beneath him. “We should get going.”

“Five minutes,” he resists. “We can have five minutes.”

Amy pushes herself up so she’s closer to him. Her legs tickle his as they move closer. She smiles up at him, her dark hair sifting over her shoulders now she’s turned over, and Jake thinks for a second that he might have just died and gone to heaven. Her smile is infectious, and it’s not long before he mirrors her.

“You’re so cute when you’ve just woken up,” she says quietly, reaching up and running her fingers through his hair. A shiver runs down his spine. “Even your hair looks adorable. Not fair.”

He has no words. He knows his bed hair, and, thanks to this, he knows she looks at least fifty times better than him.

She kisses his chest and pushes herself up and out of bed, wandering lazily towards the bathroom. Jake can’t take his eyes off her. She dresses herself slowly, only stepping out once to ask if he saw any toothpaste when they arrived. Somehow, he manages to respond, despite being utterly transfixed.

When Amy emerges again she’s fully dressed, and in the process of tying up her hair. She stands at the foot of the bed and pulls the duvet off him, hard.

“Get out of bed.” She’s being firm, in that authoritative way that only she can pull off, but there’s warmth in her eyes, and a small smile on her lips, and so he decides to take a chance.

He sits up and offers his hand.

The second her hand has slipped around his he pulls her towards him. Not hard, but not too gently that she can yank him away.

“ _Jake_ ,” she laughs, but she’s already on the end of the bed, and then she’s in his arms again, and his pulse is quickening but the entire world is slowing down for her. As if by magic.

He’s intoxicated, and he has no idea how to come back down to the real world. She’s so soft under his lips, and the scent of perfume fresh on her neck turns whatever functioning brain cells he’s got left into mist.

“Mm,” she pulls back, resting her forehead against his. “Nope. We need to go. Get dressed, and I’ll google the nearest Starbucks.”

“Starbucks?! That’s your good-mood coffee.”

She grins, smoothing down her shirt.

“I have a good feeling about today,” she says sincerely. “Maybe it’s just the endorphins.” Shaking her head, she snaps out of it, and her dark eyes land on him blankly.  “Jake! Go!”

Jake grins, finally pushing himself out of bed and heading for the bathroom, where his clothes sit in the exact same position Amy had left them in last night. He dresses as quickly as humanly possible, and like that, their day has begun. Amy's talking tactics, questions, explaining the speed dial numbers for Charles and Rosa on her phone, and the wooziness of last night is, for now, quite decidedly over.

“Do you think she’ll be at the gallery or at home? It’s a Saturday,” Amy asks nervously once they’re back on the road.

Jake looks over from the driver’s seat to see her grimacing slightly at her phone.

“We can try her address first. Then if it’s a bust we get to reward ourselves with the art, right? You’re a nerd, you know what I mean.”

For a second he wonders if he should be teasing her right now- but to his relief, when he glances over again she’s smiling to herself.

The drive isn’t too long- before he knows it he’s driving slowly through a sweet little suburban area, with Amy concentrating on directing him using her phone, staring hard at house numbers and street names. The houses somehow all look the same, as though everyone here is doing their very best to look as normal as possible. It's a little false, he thinks, trying not to wonder what bad things the people around here might have done. 

Trees line the street so densely that the only light comes through the leaves sheltering the road. Jake finds it a little disconcerting; it could be 10am, but it could just as easily be 5pm.

“There,” Amy says eventually. “Around that corner.”

Jake pulls the car around slowly, finally bringing it to a stop in front of a large, southern-style home. It’s just as typically sleepy and hidden away as he imagined; there’s even a swinging chair on the porch, rocking back and forth in the early spring breeze.

“Okay. Ready?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can you believe I updated this in (just) less than a month? no? me neither!!
> 
> anyway America's Dream Couple are officially off the grid oooo how rebellious and sneaky whatever shenanigans shall they face???? stay tuned that's all I'm sayin


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